Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads
by Polydicta
Summary: A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned. Each chapter represents the chapters of a single story. Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain-damage.
1. The Horror Below

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 1 - The Horror Below**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

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**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 1 - The Horror Below**

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The world of Harry Potter joins with the worlds of HP Lovecraft's _Cthulhu mythos_, and H. Rider Haggard's _Alan Quartermain_ stories. Surprisingly, they aren't as incompatible as they seem.

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**Chapter 1: The Horror In The Cell**

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Things had gone from bad to worse. After Albus Dumbledore had revealed the nature of the prophesy to Harry, and the fact that Voldemort had made not one horcrux but several, the quest had begun

The trouble was that only one horcrux had actually been dealt with. Riddle's diary.

Slytherin's locket, when they found the original, had proven to be a dummy. The dark enchantments were designed to camouflage the fact that the locket was, essentially, harmless. The same had been the case with Hufflepuff's cup and, presumably, Ravenclaw's diadem, but that had been destroyed by fiendfyre when death eaters had attempted their first entry into Hogwarts,

The ring had been truly magical, one of the Deathly Hallows. The curses had been easily disarmed, but the ring itself contained nothing more sinister than centuries of dirt and grime.

The upshot was a band of desperate wizards and witches hunting an unknown number of dark objects of unknown form and in unknown locations. Any lead or guess was being followed, and they were getting desperate. They had prices on their heads, Harry and Dumbledore being the most valuable of them all.

.

"So this is where Tom Riddle lived?"

Dumbledore nodded. "This is where I interviewed the boy sixty years ago. I have to say that being left derelict has improved the flavour of the place."

Harry had to agree. The place was depressing and forbidding. Located in a Victorian workhouse, the red-brick structure exuded a miasmic mood not unlike the presence of a dementor at a funeral.

Sirius, using a set of Muggle bolt-cutters sliced through the padlocks, gaining them entry into the forbidding building. Their highly tuned wizard senses caught the wisps of sensation and emotion telling them that there were the ghosts of magical people present.

Deep inside the decaying museum of misery, they found themselves in the cellars.

"Somewhere ahead … I feel … oh …"

"Luna?"

The seeress shook her head.

"The unquiet dead, Albus. They are … unfulfilled. Too young …"

The rest of the party understood all too well.

One of the arched alcoves in the tunnel was filled with bricks subtly different from the others. It was shallower.

"Here … a side tunnel … it's …"

The blond witch was pale as death.

"Two murders, Albus. And a mystery, A deep mystery. Darkest evil, too …"

.

Four blows with his sledgehammer and Sirius had broached the obstruction. A fetid breath of ancient graveyard stench, and they were able to enter the tunnel which sloped downward. With their magical sense of direction, they knew that if the tunnel carried on, it would emerge in the West India Docks.

The floor was getting wet and the walls were wreathed in fungal mats when they found the hunched remains of a child, now little more than bones and rotted scraps.

There was a movement and two silvery forms glided out from the wall. One was instantly recognised by two of the party.

"Tom? Tom Riddle?"

The boy nodded. "Professor Dumbledore? Is that really you? And you …? I'm sorry but …?"

This was nothing like the arrogant Slytherin head boy Harry had encountered in the chamber those painful years past. And if this was Tom Riddle, then who was Voldemort?

Harry and Dumbledore looked at each other, the same question in both sets of eyes.

"What happened, Tom?"

The ghost shook his head.

"I'm not sure. It was a few days after you came to see me. I came looking for my friend, Jane Sawyer, here. She was laying right here, crying. There was a blue flash, and she fell silent. I felt a shove and a falling sensation, and then I saw myself legging it back up the tunnel. I've stayed with Jane ever since."

"Tom, you need to know things, but can you help us? Help us to avenge the both of you?"

The two ghosts nodded. "Yes please, but I don't know what I can do."

Harry's heart was torn by how much the girl sounded like his Hermione.

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A continued search of the tunnel proved fruitless, and there was no residue of persistent dark magic anywhere in the building itself. The party departed, returning the following day with the … materials necessary to obtain the help of the two ghosts.

"Jane, Tom. These are the soulless shells of two young people who were attacked by Lord V's dementors. If you enter their bodies, you can take possession of them, control them, use them much as your own bodies."

"And our magic? Will we finally be able to learn to use it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "That is the great secret, Jane. You will have access to the magic that the previous … tenant had. Lord V doesn't know that we can do this. It is one of the few weapons that we have to maintain our numbers."

The two ghosts slipped from view and the sightless eyes of the dementor-kissed teens lit once more with intelligence. They looked at each other and kissed tenderly, a gesture that Voldemort would never have made.

"So what were you down here for, Jane?"

"I don't know, but I suddenly came to myself digging just here …"

She pointed at the lower half of the tunnel wall.

Neville scraped away the fungus with his dragon-hide gloved hand, sweeping a curtain of grey and black mould from a shallow hole.

A torch beam showed a smallish hole at the back of the larger hole.

Gently removing the girl's last mortal remains from harm, they dug out the wall, providing an entrance to a stone-walled chamber. The tris-decagonal room exuded a sense of unmitigated evil. The stale air gave the electric torch-light a putrescent feel. Harry was glad that Ron wasn't here, his sensitivity to such miasmic environments was painful to behold since his encounter in the Department of Mysteries those many years before.

The stone was black basalt, massive blocks with barely a razor's edge between them. The floor was inlaid with some reddish stone, forming a complex series of rune-strewn concentric patterns.

"It's a magical cell, a containment."

Albus nodded. "And, I would suggest, it finally ceased to operate after the last of the mages guarding the site abandoned their duty. Or were killed."

"The war, Albus? Grindelwald's war?"

"Yes, Mrs Potter. Grindelwald's war. Now, the question is, what was contained here?"

"That's simple, Albus."

"What makes you say that, Neville?"

"It's body is just here."

The creature was thoroughly mummified, as though the organisms of decay had refused to have anything to do with the thing.

It had stood about three feet tall. It was bipedal with six-fingered hands … fingers with too many joints. The triangular face had a narrow, lipless slit for a mouth surrounded by a number of fleshy mounds. There was no nose but two slit-like nostrils. The eyes were narrow in death.

The cranium was smooth and high-domed without any trace of hair. There were the buds of what resembled nothing less than a pair of fleshy horns arising from where a human would have a hair-line.

Even in death, the creature radiated a malice and sense of evil that made the war-hardened mages shudder.

"A demon?"

"Severus would know, but I don't think so. Is there anything else here?"

They looked around carefully, scanning every inch of the room.

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When they left, they set delayed fiendfyre grenades behind to cleanse the chamber.

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Studying the memories of the chamber in a pensieve back at Grimmauld Place, they were able to trace back the arithmantics of the warding patterns, and Hermione was able to trace words inscribed in one of the walls.

"Albus, one of the stones had an inscription. This is it, as best I can manage."

The sketch was passed around.

"Any ideas, anyone?"

"It's a pretty sinuous script. Cursive scripts are usually pretty late, but the chamber reeks of being pre-roman … or even pre-Celtic."

The last to see the sketch was Harry.

"Ashathh ichhh tahhhh sahhh nisss …."

"Harry?"

"It's parseltongue. Let's see…

"_The thunderbolt that rent the sky rent also the land, and from it came the sucking death controlled by_ … there's a word that doesn't translate. Demon perhaps. _The lesser evil was destroyed by the force of spirit, but the greater evil was confined only by trickery and self-sacrifice. We who have done this thing give warning of this evil that it never be let loose upon the world._"

Below the text was a symbol, a kind of branch with three twigs. It had a runic appearance.

"An evil from before time and from another world."

Harry nodded. "And have you noticed how much our dead demon and Lord V resemble each other?"

"What about the symbol, Hermione?"

"That's an oddity. It's known as the Elder Sign, and features in a whole series of muggle fictions by HP Lovecraft."

Dumbledore looked up. "Lovecraft? He was a fellow of Miskatonic University, the American lore-research college."

"Not fictional then?"

The ancient mage shook his head. "Not at all. He wrote a lot of genuine lore into his so-called fiction, hiding it in plain sight and, incidentally, defusing a lot of its power to do harm."

"So how do we fight this evil?"

Harry shook his head. He had a phrase from the chamber running through his mind, but he couldn't place where in the text it stood.

.

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**Chapter 2: Seen Through The Singular Eye**

The Potters re-visited the pensieve memories of the chamber. Eventually, Harry froze the memory and examined the room in minute detail.

"Hermione? Take a look at this, please?"

She followed his finger. Incredibly, the Elder Symbol was carved so that the outline was made up by a series of minutely finished parsel runes.

"Micrography, Harry? I've never even heard of it being used in a stone inscription. What does it say, Harry?"

"It's the activation spell for the elder sign. A ritual chant…"

His voice trailed off as he continued to read. He seemed to be reading for hours, but it was probably only a few minutes.

At last he looked at her. "I know how to make the elder signs, 'Mione. I also know what that thing was called."

"What?"

"Not here. Let's go?"

They released the memory and swung out of the pensieve.

"C'thach'k-Pfthalu."

"Pardon?"

"That thing is a C'thach'k-Pfthalu. Lesser spawn of the ancient ones …"

"How…?"

Harry grinned. "Parseltongue is a remarkable thing. It hasn't changed significantly since before mankind was even an ape. It's probably almost the ideal language to write messages across time in."

"And what do the ancients have to say on this creature?"

"Not much. They managed to confine the greater evil, but were unable to destroy it. We need to do research. We need all that we can document on that chamber without using detectable magic. Hell, if we hadn't burned it out, I'd be down there using some of Albus' instruments on that room. I may do anyway."

As they wrote their reports, sketched their sketches and drew their figures, the Potters marshalled fact after fact. The words, once begun, simply flowed. It was unusual that harry was actually the one handling the rune work, but as the only available parselmouth, his input was unique.

At length the text was complete. A thousand pages of text, description, analysis and figures accompanied by photographs taken within the pensieve were bound into a single, heavy volume.

"Harry? Hermione? You do realise that this is probably worth sending to Miskatonic, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Albus?"

"There is enough to get you both doctorates here, as well as providing some valuable material for our own research."

The two Potters looked thunderstruck.

"Look, you have done original research, and this thesis may contain the key to ending the war, destroying _Him_. We need to take this further, but my guess is that the basis of our best hope lies within these pages. Since we can perform magic undetected within these walls, please make a dozen permanent copies of your book and we'll send them to Professor Derleth at Miskatonic. They're the world's premiere centre for pre-glacene lore, after all."

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After sending six shrunken copies of their text along with a covering letter from the former headmaster, Harry was leading Hermione to their bedroom when he directed them toward the old Black Library.

"I've had a phrase from that chamber running through my mind since we saw the parsel runes. We need to look it up, it seems familiar, somehow."

As they entered the library, Harry said, "That which is not dead can eternal lie; and with strange aeons even death may die."

There was a quiet cracking sound and a glow from one of the shelves. A series of sinuous runes appeared up a shelf-end. Harry read them out loud and suddenly an extra block of shelves elbowed their way into view.

"Harry, what was that spell?"

"It's a quote. It says,_ in his house at drowned R'lyeh, dead Cthulu waits dreaming_."

"So this is a shelf of lore on …?"

Harry nodded and shouted for Dumbledore who promptly arrived in his nightgown. No further sleep was slept by anyone that night. Sirius was amazed at the extra books that had appeared. The library of Pleiades Black, a wizard who's disappearance was still quoted as a warning to not dabble in the deepest of the dark arts.

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"Harry?"

"Yes, Sirius?"

"There's one here for you. It's in parseltongue."

The book was bound in a thin, pale, tan leather that made Harry's flesh creep. The cover sported an inked design and a gilded symbol in the centre of the cover. An Ourorobos surrounding a rune like an inverted script 'n' with a dot in the centre.

Hermione glanced and shuddered.

"It's man-skin. Tattooed man-skin. I recognise it from the Holocaust Museum at Dachau. The symbol is the world snake surrounding the rune 'sepra', the sun."

Dumbledore looked up. "It looks like a stylised eye?"

Hermione and Harry nodded.

"The singularis ocularis. There are supposedly no copies remaining of that book. Just opening it, we're told, is to risk madness."

Harry shuddered. "Just handling it, too. It … feels … evil. Before I start to read, what are we told is inside?"

.

"So, what you're telling me is that I am going to have to read a book that describes … things … from the time before life on Earth, Things that make my worst nightmares seem like cute, fluffy bunnies. And that this may be the original, unexpurgated edition written for demons, devils and face-eating monsters from the cthonic planes?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"I'm afraid, Harry, that is precisely what I am saying. This is certainly a more ancient text than the Latin, Greek and Arabic texts that have been described. Having read part of the commentaries on Al-Hazared's Necronomicon, this is one of the texts he mentions. It's even mentioned in the Pnakotic Manuscripts by name, the singular eye.

"This may be the darkest book on the face of the planet, and there are probably just two beings who can read it. I'm sorry Harry, and if I thought that I could read this, even in translation, without going dark, I would. You are the chosen one for a reason."

"Harry?"

He looked at his wife.

"Please don't do any work of this text unless you're fully rested, no more than an hour at a time, and only with two others in the room with you."

He nodded. "I understand. This is a task to not take lightly in the least."

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The book was opened and by the third page, Harry knew that he had hit paydirt. He read on, accepting that there were spells that were being activated by his reading. None felt particularly unwholesome.

"Hermione, it says here, _C'thach'k-Pfthalu grashni t'linga-u pflar' h'ni doc'h marni; Y'm anathi agnata om t'tfalu ohn_. The Greater Spawn of the abyss between spreads its corrupt contagion by the possession of its victim. Pain and anguish mark its presence."

"Harry, that wasn't Parseltongue."

"I know, 'Mione. The first pages of the book taught me to speak two other languages. Sumerian and Sunnaic, I think. Most of the text is actually in the Sunnaic sliding snake-runes."

"Really? So what is the book?"

Harry grinned. "It's a fake, actually. It's an ancient book about the darkest of magic disguised as a text of that dark magic. It's a defence text."

Albus Dumbledore entered. Tonks looked embarrassed, having slipped out to fetch the old mage.

"Albus, this is exactly what we wanted. It's a six-thousand year old defence text. The spells and charms described are … scary. Very … blunt and to the point. There is even a description here of a suitable container for the C'thach'k-Pfthalu. We've already seen one similar. It does say, however, that there is an even more ancient … text that may be of help, but the author has no idea how to find it."

"More ancient than …? Where would … ?"

"The text says that some race called The Great Old Ones knew how to deal with this evil. There are references to Leng on The Forbidden Plateau, and to a great and ancient fortress within The Mountains of Night. It also speaks of The Peak of Eternal Day, a place more holy and more evil than any on Earth."

Dumbledore had paled considerably as he heard these words.

"The forbidden Plateau of Leng has been approached by eleven expeditions. Only one returned, and of the twenty three members, eight were insane, three suffered terrible nightmares and twelve died while still on the plateau.

"The Mountains of Night are unknown, but I suspect that they may be known now as The Mountains of Madness in Antarctica. I suspect that the Peak of Eternal Day is there also. There are mountains, yet unexplored, a few hundred miles from the Madness Range, high enough, perhaps, to never fall into the Earth's shadow … but that is also an evil place … a place of insanity and terrible death."

A contemplative silence fell, filled with uncertainty and dread.

At last Harry spoke. "What can we find out about those places … those expeditions?"

"I will contact Professor Derleth … he will know what is to be known. All I can say is that the script has resisted translation. There are no common terms of reference."

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Months had passed and the Order of the Phoenix had studied and learned. The hunt for Voldemort's horcruces was relegated to a lesser order of importance, the search for a means to remove his immediate threat being by far more urgent.

As Albus said, "with what we now know of his true nature, I would suggest that the horcrux hunt is a blind alley. Although we know that one was created, I'm no longer convinced that it was genuinely Lord V's. I suspect that it was created deliberately in the knowledge that it would lead us up a dead-end.

"Right now, we need to neutralise the immediate threat and to hope that any … other … artefacts can be dealt with afterward."

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Harry had spent much time translating the Singularis Ocularis text into English, and was intending to send a copy to Miskatonic for inclusion in the Orne Library. He was on the final few pages when he made a discovery.

"Albus?"

The elder mage looked up from his own reading.

"There is a section here that wasn't … evident when I leafed through. There are several indeterminate spells in Parseltongue, but there is information which wasn't available before. There is information on …"

Albus waited as Harry squinted slightly, formulating a meaningful translation. They all knew that translation was sometimes tricky.

"… it's a sect, I suppose, known as The Dark Order of The Nine Winds. Perhaps _endarkened order_ would be more appropriate?"

Dumbledore's face was paler than Snape's.

Albus called the ex Death Eater. "Severus? Are you there?"

A grumbling Potions Master entered. "You called, Albus?"

"Harry has just found a reference to an ancient order. I wondered if you might know anything more than their reputation? They're known as The Dark Order of The Nine Winds."

Snape blanched further and said several extremely rude words.

"Yes, I know a very little of them. They were warrior mages, and they make the hardest hit-wizards look soft. No one has the slightest idea about how many of them there are, nor where they come from. They are usually taken to be dark wizards, but I'm not so sure that the name actually means that at all."

"Oh?"

"Dark could mean hidden or shadowy rather than the modern meaning of evil. It probably just indicates that they are a very secret society. Why do you ask?"

"Harry has found reference to them in the Singularis Ocularis."

Snape sat suddenly. "Oh," was all he said.

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	2. Experiments in Reanimation

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 2 - Experiments in Reanimation**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

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**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 2 - Experiments in Reanimation**

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The world of Harry Potter joins with the worlds of Gothic Horror, Young Frankenstein, Steampunk and Girl genius (Mad Science). Harry is a _Spark_ - one touched by the ability to instinctively mess with things man was never meant to know, and sparks start messing early.

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**Note:** Includes the Obligatory 'massive inheritance', 'insanely structured trunks' and 'all manner of stuff from nowhere' clichés. Not meant to be taken seriously.

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**Chapter 1 - A Prologue**

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_Draco woke to pain and the smell of burned hair._

_He was strapped to a table of some sort and he could hear crackling and buzzing noises underlain by whirring and the occasional squeak._

_As he opened his eyes they were met by a scene that, had he been a muggle, he'd have recognised from an assortment of gothic horror movies, but, being wizard-born …_

_Draco whimpered and worked his way up to a full throated scream._

_A figure dressed in white robes, surgical mask and strange, brass goggles with an assortment of … things attached entered. A pair of red, rubber, elbow-length gloves covered its hands._

_"Ah, Draco, you're awake. Good. Try not to worry, but after having been dead for a few days, you're bound to be suffering some confusion and disorientation."_

_._

The summer before third year …

"Ah, so glad to meet you at last, Mr Potter. It has come to my attention that you haven't been receiving your mail from us, for whatever reason. Whatever, we can correct this right now."

Harry nodded, fuming quietly at the way his mail had been interfered with … again.

"Director Ragnok, how long has this been the case? And what needs to be done to correct the situation?"

The old goblin smiled. He appreciated the way this young human cut straight to the chase whist being polite and respectful. Many goblin young, he reflected briefly, could do with learning the same lesson.

"Simply, Mr Potter, you should have been receiving statements annually since your parents … since you were placed with your guardians. The specific problem is a pair of inheritances that you should have been notified of on or about your eleventh birthday."

Harry nodded. "That one is easy. My guardians were … objecting to my getting any owl post at the time – specifically, my Hogwarts letter. The annual statements however …"

Harry shrugged.

"In which case, it is simple enough to pass your inheritances to you. Your parents, of course, left you everything, but there were some items that were to be passed on to you when you turned eleven – journals and books, for the most part. Your grandfather, Charlus, left a quantity of goods for you – a matter of several trunks containing whatever. The contents were not detailed."

Harry nodded, his eyes widening slightly and he felt tears demanding to be shed for the family he never knew.

"Lastly, a muggle relative's … bequest … comes to you. Your great uncle on your mother's side, Viktor von Fröhenstein who died without issue left you everything. He specified that you would inherit his goods when you turned eleven, but his title passed immediately to you on his death. There are no others who could inherit – you are the last of his line, your cousin is excluded, of course, being a cadet line from your mother's half-sister who is no blood relation to the von Fröhenstein lineage.

"Of course, this immediately grants you, by the nature of these things, Bavarian dual nationality."

Harry nodded and then looked at the goblin.

"But Bavaria is part of Germany, isn't it?"

The goblin grinned toothily. "Not in the magical world, and since you're a wizard, then you fall under the aegis of the Bavarian Ministry. For convenience, I took the liberty of combining the separate vaults with the three legacies into a single goods vault – number seven hundred and fifty four."

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**Chapter 1 Third year**

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Harry sat in his room in the Leaky Cauldron. He had visited his secondary vault and examined the contents. His parents had left him two trunks of assorted goods – a mixture of memories, in the form of wizarding photograph albums, and practical items – their journals and personal libraries. There was also the family penseive along with a few vials of silvery memories – and a pair of personal letters addressed to him.

The letters tore him apart emotionally, leaving him raw and exhausted.

The trunks from his grandfather contained the family library and his warding and curse-breaking equipment, which fascinated Harry immensely.

Finally, a chest from his great uncle contained a collection of journals, text books and assorted papers, including the letters patent that granted the family the barony of Fröhenstein, a petty realm in the Bavarian Alps comprising a decaying castle, a small village whose trade consisted of speciality chocolate, a pungent cheese and a few die-hard hikers who wanted to visit the two mountains in the barony.

There was a Swiss bank account containing a respectable balance in Euros. Actually, a very respectable balance. He also saw that a warehouse had been retained to hold the goods in trust for him – furniture, library, art works, workshop and laboratory equipment.

Harry's eyebrow cocked mightily at that.

.

Harry began the long task of sorting out his belongings. Luckily, his grandfather's trunk was an expanded, multi-compartment model. The first compartment was empty but for a thin, leather-bound book. Flicking through, he found it to be the instruction manual for the trunk.

The compartments included the usual empty space, a clothes closet and wardrobe, a potions laboratory, a warders and curse-breaker's tool compartment, a library with an office and study and a small cabin. The seventh and final compartment was designed to safely accommodate other storage devices shrunken and with internal space‑expansion charms.

Harry was confused at the potions laboratory until he realised that it unfolded from the trunk yielding a work-bench, compact storage for equipment and supplies and access to part of the library.

Similarly, the warder's store gave access to the library.

He entered the study and found it comfortable, the lamplight giving the library around him a warm, cosy, homely feel. The desk and filing cabinet (an antique wooden one with brass handles and fittings) contained documents and stationery. A cupboard contained sufficient stationery to supply the whole of Hogwarts for a year.

Venturing forth once more, he entered the cabin. There was a compact washroom and toilet, a compact galley with a stasis-charmed food-store and a breakfast bar, there was a small sitting area with a sofa and a wing-backed chair, and a drinks cabinet. Behind a curtain was a large bunk-bed with storage space above and below – in the latter he found a wizarding tent. A _large_ wizarding tent, as he would discover when he finally used it.

A narrow door gave access to the clothes closet compartment, and a second door led to the study. A third opened into a short, narrow corridor with four more doors. Each gave access to one of the other compartments of the trunk. For the most part, they acted simply as cupboards, not allowing the unfolding of the potions bench.

Leaving the trunk, Harry withdrew the contents of the final compartment – two trunks that could not be removed from the cupboard in the cabin.

_You cannot open space-expanded containers of more than three cubic feet (internal) within an expanded space without risking disruption of the space-expansion charms. In order to safeguard the user, space-expanded containers are not accessible through the inter-compartment portal._

He opened the trunks and the chest. He closed them and sighed. It was going to be a long task sorting this lot out, so he prevaricated and settled to finishing his homework.

.

As he waded through the masses of goods he had been given, sorting, cleaning and cataloguing, he made a list of things he would need to replace. This didn't worry him since the chest from the trunk contained, amongst other things, a large amount of wizarding money.

Much of his inheritance was in disarray, and Harry found himself wondering if the summer would be enough for him to sort, replace and understand what he had been given. Until, that is, he found a polished wooden box with a circular, crystal window and a magical lock. He pricked his finger, for seemingly the thousandth time in a week, and opened the box. Within he saw an intricate device made of crystal and gold. Looking like a magical egg-timer, Harry lifted the device on its long chain, and found beneath it a small book of instructions.

He found that this was a time-turner. Suddenly, he had time to study, to sort, to clean and to enjoy himself. He read the instructions, and especially the warnings about travelling in time.

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The remaining six weeks of the summer holiday stretched to rather more than twelve by use of the trunk and the time-turner. Harry sorted and studied, he shopped, he explored and he trained, at least a bit.

In his sorting, he discovered a collection of wands, all taken in duels. He found a couple that he felt comfortable with, that allowed him to perform magic unnoticed by the ministry.

He sent Hedwig to Hogwarts, asking Professor McGonagall to allow him to study ancient runes and arithmancy instead of divination. her reply came back that he could.

He knew that Ron would be upset, but Harry now had a legacy to live up to.

.

Ron had been, as predicted, a git. Harry knew that his friendship with the jealous, and above all, lazy red-head was at an end. Harry felt regretful, but not overly so. Hermione, on the other hand, stuck to him like glue, and demanded that she be allowed to see his library as soon as possible. This made Harry chuckle quietly to himself.

Malfoy interrupted their journey with his obligatory visit, accompanied by the goon-squad. Harry just told him to learn to sleep with one eye open. They were disturbed by the entry of dementors onto the train, causing Harry to collapse.

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As the term slipped slowly past, Hermione was becoming more and more exhausted. Harry recognised the symptoms.

"Hermione? Are you using a time-turner to follow your impossible schedule? Are you using it to cram more study hours into the rest of the day, every day?"

Her eyes widened in panic.

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out his own.

"Harry … where did you …?"

"I inherited it, so don't tell anyone. Will yours go back a full twenty four hours?"

She shook her head. "Six hours per day maximum."

"And you're turning all six every day?"

She nodded.

"And you're not getting any extra sleep, are you? A thirty hour day requires ten hours sleep, Hermione. I get around it by turning a full day and spending it in my trunk studying, and getting a good night's rest at the end of the day."

"Oh …"

"You want to use part of your turned time to study and sleep in my trunk? It would be nice to have company when I'm on a trunk day. I do my turned day before a normal day, so you'd only be able to discuss classes I don't take in the trunk."

She nodded dumbly, knowing that this was to avoid the risk of paradox.

The year proceeded, Sirius Black caused havoc, Harry and Hermione learned to cast a patronus. Harry, watching the Marauders' Map, saw a name that he didn't expect to see in the Gryffindor dormitory. He went to Professor Lupin with the matter.

"Professor? I have this map, and I saw a the name of someone who is supposedly dead in my dormitory. Peter Pettigrew."

Lupin looked at the map. "Where did you get this, Harry?"

"I inherited it, professor, I'm interested in the charms that are on it. For example …"

He touched the open map with his wand. "Prongs Junior would like to find Peter Pettigrew."

A message wrote itself on the map in Harry's father's writing. _Peter Pettigrew is in the third year boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor tower._

"That's Prongs' copy? I thought it was … lost."

Harry nodded. "I know, Uncle Moony. The twins have Sirius Black's copy. Oh, I've changed the password on both copies."

Lupin nodded. "How secure?"

Harry grinned. "Nothing to do with any of the marauders. It's private. This one is in parseltongue, anyway."

.

The Daily Prophet headline blared, "Sirius Black innocent: Pettigrew guilty of mass murder."

It was a pale and skeletal Sirius Black who sat in Lupin's office grinning at his godson a week later.

.

It was to the bedevilment of Cornelius Fudge that the condemned hippogriff, Buckbeak, disappeared minutes before he was due to be executed. Of course, it was impossible to disappear an entire hippogriff, but no one really questioned the presence of a similar creature, Witherwings, in the Forbidden Forest.

Exams came and went, and both Harry and Hermione were happy with their performance.

Harry was looking forward to getting on with his own studies over the summer, once he moved in with his godfather. He looked forward to seeing his best friend over the summer too, and she looked forward to seeing him.

.


	3. The Goblet of Chaos

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 3 - The Goblet of Chaos**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 3 - The Goblet of Chaos**

.

Harry Potter's fourth year is interrupted by the Goblet of Fire enforcing the rules according to its own idea of how to interpret the slips of parchment, paper and old drinks cans that were thrown into it.

OOC characters, gender-bending magic and barely magical Dudley Dursley.

.

.

**Chapter 1: The Goblet of Fire**

.

"So you're telling us that Malfoy has transferred to Durmstrang?"

The Slytherin prefect nodded. For some reason, without Malfoy's presence, relations between the snakes and the rest of the school had thawed somewhat.

"Apparently, his father wants him out of the way of, ahem, trouble this year."

Ron's entire comment was _git_.

.

The sorting ceremony was over and the Headmaster stood to make his announcements.

"This year Hogwarts will be playing host to delegations from two magical schools in Europe to cement friendships and to forge bonds of mutual understanding and cooperation. For the first time in over a century, a long standing tradition is to be revived.

"This year, Hogwarts is hosting the Tri Wizard Tournament. Let me welcome first, the Ladies of Beauxbatons Academy, and their Head Teacher Madame Olympe Maxime."

The belles of that school swept gracefully down the length of the Great Hall, their pale blue robes bringing a little extra colour to the chamber. They took seats at the foot of the tables occupied by the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

"And now, I am pleased to introduce the young men of the Durmstrang Institute with their headmaster, Primus Igor Karkaroff."

The Durmstrang youths strode in with staves and wearing the fur cloaks and hats that kept the biting Baltic winter airs from them. Not one smiled, unless a scowl passed for a smile there.

As they took their seats at the foot of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables Harry was surprised to see Draco Malfoy amongst their number. He nodded an acknowledgement to his arch rival.

"And now, I would like to introduce you to the man who has worked tirelessly to make this tournament happen, our chief judge, the head of the office of magical sporting cooperation, Mr Bartemius Crouch."

The proceedings continued with much barely contained excitement amongst the students of Hogwarts.

The Goblet of Fire was released from it's shielded transport case, and Crouch announced the commencement of the Tri Wizard Tournament.

Dumbledore explained …

_Because of the risk to life and limb in the tournament, it has been decided that no student below the age of seventeen will be allowed to compete._

_In order to enter, you must simply write your name and the name of your school on a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet. At this time on Saturday, that is three days from now, the Goblet of Fire will select and make known who is to represent each of the schools._

_To prevent any inappropriate entries, there will be an age line surrounding the goblet, preventing anyone below the age of seventeen from approaching the goblet._

The feast was enjoyed by the Durmstrang and Hogwarts students. The refined palates of the Beauxbatons girls were offended by the over-rich and unsubtle British cuisine.

.

There were mutterings and mumblings about the age limits on the tournament. The Weasley twins came up with the idea of an ageing potion. They took the potion, flipped their names into the goblet and were immediately ejected from within the circle.

"It was worth a try Gred."

"It was indeed, Brother mine."

Nobody thought any more about it as the twins headed off, bickering and planning their next prank.

One of the underage Ravenclaws levitated a blank piece of parchment into the goblet, just to try the theory.

Again, nobody thought anything more of it.

Seamus, dead shot with a muggle elastic band and a paper pellet spent an instructive half hour just shooting pellets of scrap parchment into the goblet, purely as target practice.

And no one even considered that anything might be amiss.

.

Saturday evening arrived and there was an atmosphere of tense excitement. The Goblet of Fire was burning now with a deep blue flame. There was a puff of red and a folded slip of parchment was ejected.

Dumbledore caught it. "The Durmstrang Institute champion is … um, Draco Malfoy?"

The confusion in his voice was evident.

"Draco Malfoy, come forward please …"

The boy was given hard stares, there were murmurings of discontent. He was led through into the Trophy Room.

The goblet flared again, and a neatly folded piece of parchment was thrown clear.

"The Beauxbatons Academy is … Cecile Delacour. Miss Delacour please?"

The girl who stood looked nonplussed, and walked to the front of the hall. Harry thought she looked no more than fifteen or sixteen.

The next name was thrown from the cup.

"The Hogwarts School champion is … Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, please?"

Hermione stood, and stumbled her way to the front of the hall. There was shocked silence. None of the champions should have been able to enter, let alone be chosen.

The cup flared yet again, and the crisply-folded parchment read out.

"For some reason, a fourth champion has been chosen by the cup. A champion for Cauntersfield Academy is named. Harry Potter… Mr Potter, please come here."

Seamus called out. "He can't sir, he seems to have fainted!"

"Very well, we'll fetch him in a moment."

As Dumbledore spoke, a further scrap of parchment, singed and screwed up was spat out. The untidy scrawl took a minute to decipher.

"Dudley Dursley is named as the champion for … pardon? For Smeltings School for Young Gentlemen. Is Mr Dursley here please?"

There was no response.

"While we brief the champions, please, enjoy your meal. Ah, Harry, please come forward."

The three heads, Percy Weasley, Mr Crouch and Professor Moody escorted Harry into the Trophy Room.

"What is the meaning of this, Dumblydore? It is an outrage!"

"Please calm yourself Madame. It would appear that all of the champions are of an age here. Tell me, Harry. How did you get your name into the cup?"

"I didn't Sir. I have no idea how my name got in there. And, by the way, what is the Cauntersfield Academy?"

Dumbledore looked into his eyes, and could see no lie. The same with Miss Granger, with Malfoy and with the Delacour girl.

"They are, as far as I can tell, telling the truth."

"Excuse me sir, I do admit to having put Dudley's name in."

"Mr Potter? Explain yourself."

"His name and school were on a scrap of parchment in my trunk. I just tore it off, screwed it as tight as I could and tossed it in from outside the line. There was no way I could expect his name to come out, after all, Smeltings is a muggle school, and it isn't taking part in the tournament. I would have expected it to have been incinerated like some of the entries appeared to have been."

Dumbledore listened and observed.

"Well, twenty points from Gryffindor for a foolish prank. Thirty points to Gryffindor for owning up. Now, Professor Moody, do you have any ideas?"

"Several, but it would take an incredibly powerful _confundus_ charm to confound a powerful magical artefact like the Goblet. But why the names that came out might be chosen is beyond me. Indeed, it seems as though there is something very, very far amiss here."

"Barty? What is the position? After all you know the rules better than any here."

"The entry of a name represents a binding magical contract between the entrant and the Goblet. For any of them to withdraw would result in enforcement of the rules in some way. It has always been assumed that the price of failure to compete would be loss of the contestant's magic, but it may be death, or even being forced to compete. The situation has never arisen."

"Um, Sir, how about the dangerous tasks be changed, we hold the Triwizard Tiddlywinks Tournament this week and just re-start from scratch next week?"

"That's a thought, Miss Granger. Barty?"

The ministry wizard looked embarrassed.

"Unfortunately, we are trapped by the nature of the tournament. The nature and approximate timing of the three tasks is a part of the contract. We may add further competition events, but ultimately, the three tasks are what count and each must be attempted by the entrants."

A strange expression crossed his features, a slight, unexpected smile.

"I for one would enjoy watching inter-school tiddlywinks. It is a muggle game that has always fascinated me."

.

"Very well. Well, it looks as though you will be competing. Whilst the rules are clear that you may not receive assistance from school staff, there is no reason why you should not ask for and receive help from your schoolmates. The library will be at your disposal for the entire time of the tournament. Now, let us go and eat, and we will explain to the school what will be happening."

.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, the floor around the Goblet of Fire was littered with pieces of charred parchment like confetti after some dark wedding.

"The goblet continued to name participants in the tournament after you left, headmaster. It named such champions as wormwood, bezoar, goat's bane, flobberworm and hippogryff. I fear that the charms about the object seem to be failing."

"You may well be correct, Severus. Were there any other meaningful names at all?"

"No, Headmaster. I am curious, though, as to how Potter managed to do this?"

"I am sure that, apart from one name, that Mr Potter had nothing to do with the events of tonight. Indeed, the charms should have prevented any name from an underage wizard or witch from emerging at all."

.

"Quiet please! It would appear that for some reason the charms on the Goblet of Fire have been miscast at some point, and that names that were never entered have been selected. Since the five champions are all of similar ages, the tournament will proceed as planned. I would ask you, however, to give as much support as is humanly possible to the champions in their preparation for the tasks ahead of them.

"For this year, Hogwarts students, please note that there will be no formal inter-house quiddich this year…"

There were groans and complaints.

"… but that there will be an informal competition between the three schools and however many teams are put together, including mixed school and mixed house teams."

That part of the announcement was greeted with considerable cheering and applause. The rest of the feast continued in good airs. The champions were sat at a small table at the front of the hall between the High Table and the four long tables.

Dumbledore spoke to Harry at the end of the feast. "Harry, I will be fetching your cousin tomorrow and inviting him to take part in the tournament. I would ask you to assist him as much as possible. Whilst he has no magic to lose, he does have a life, and if he is forced to compete, he will arrive completely unprepared."

Harry nodded. "I understand, sir. I got him into this, so I need to help him get out of it. Are muggle solutions allowed?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I would have it no other way."

.

Later, Harry asked Hermione, "I never got an answer. What is Cauntersfield Academy?"

Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"It's an academy of magic near Canterbury, Harry."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"It's for advanced study by high-achieving witches only. It's a girl's school, and they're all like the Ravenclaws."

Harry turned beetroot red and mumbled a few bad words.

"For once, I agree, Harry. For once I agree."

.

.

**Chapter 2: Enforcement**

.

Dawn broke and morning arrived in the usual way of there things. The peace in the fourth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory was split asunder by a high-pitched shriek.

Ron was the first to react. He found a girl in the boys' bathroom.

"Um, excuse me miss, umm, can I help you, this is the boy's bathroom."

The girl had long raven hair down to her shapely …

Ron, in an unaccustomed display of chivalry, wrestled his eyes back up above shoulder level.

She turned, and there were two piercing emerald eyes in a face that was white with terror. The full lips looked …

He shifted his gaze again. Then he noticed the scar.

"Harry?"

The girl nodded. "I'd like to say who else, Ron, but …"

She gestured to herself with long, slender hands, drawing Ron's gaze to her more obvious …

He clamped his eyes on the girl's face.

"Umm, mate, umm … Hermione?"

Harry nodded and walked awkwardly past Ron, the movement making her ample …

He clamped down on that thought too.

Harry walked down to the common room, obviously having difficulties due to her hips. Then she climbed the stairs to the fourth year girl's dorm, expecting, all the while, to suffer the indignity of the stairs turning into a chute.

Arriving in the dorm, Hermione was sat, staring into space.

"Umm, Hermione? … Hermione!"

"Eh? What? Oh hi. Who are …? Can I help?"

"I hope so. Umm, I woke up like this. I'm frightened."

Hermione looked at the black haired girl. "I'm sorry, I don't see a problem."

Harry's voice began to become shrill as she spoke. "Well, when I went to bed I was a boy. You know, Harry Potter? Your friend? And … Hermione, what happened to you? You look …"

"Older? Hi Harry. You're quite a looker, you know that …?"

Hermione didn't seem terribly fazed, either that or she was too stunned to be coherent.

"Umm, if I had always been a girl, I may appreciate that but …"

She paused.

"Hermione, you know that you're a boy's waking dream you know?"

Her head jerked up. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "Really, and I always thought so too. Umm … shouldn't we be more worried about this?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I'd like to find Professor McGonagall. At least it's Sunday, so no classes."

Harry shrugged and went back to the boys' dorm to collect some clothes and toilet gear, returning to use the facilities in the girls' dorm before anyone else was awake. Inside, she was terrified by what was happening.

.

Showered and dressed, Harry felt better. She'd had trouble finding anything to fit her new physique, so had ended up asking Hermione to transfigure some clothes for her.

To say that she was embarrassed was an understatement. It was the first time Harry had seen naked breasts, or any other part of a girl for that matter.

Her embarrassment rose to even hotter blushes when she saw the underwear that Hermione had transfigured for her to wear.

"I wasn't sure what size bra you needed, so let's … oh dear, a full … "

Hermione blushed.

"What?"

"You're bigger than I am, Harry. Mind you …" She blushed even more.

Harry couldn't find any of the black school robes that she was accustomed to wearing. Somehow, a set of robes seemed to be liable to prevent her from feeling quite as obvious in being a her. For some reason, all of her school robes seemed to be deep blue with a crest featuring a mitre and crossed sword and staff.

"You've only got Cauntersfield robes? I wonder why the robes and not other clothes. In fact, why the robes at all?"

"And my shoes, 'Mione."

Harry couldn't find her usual trainers, only elegant shoes that suited her new feet perfectly, including a pair of dragon skin boots.

.

The pair of girls made their way along the corridors to find Professor McGonagall before she went for breakfast.

"Come in! Oh, good morning, can I hel … p … y …ou …?"

"Good morning Professor. We seem to have a bit of a problem."

"Miss Granger? What has …? And, I'm sorry, you are…?"

"Umm, well, as far as I know, I'm Harry Potter, Professor. We both went to bed and woke up like this. And my stuff is still in the boys' dorm. and …"

Harry burst into tears, and was comforted by Hermione who was also weeping.

After being checked over by Madam Pomfrey, and pronounced fit, well and both over seventeen, they went for a quiet breakfast in the kitchen. Dobby greeted them effusively.

"You are well mistresses?"

"Um, apparently so, but I'm not sure what …?"

"Mistress Harry and Mistress Hermie have been made to fit the tournament. Dark wizard has made the Gobbler of Fire go mad. Mistress Harry will be alright when Gobbler of Fire is fixed after Tri-Wizards are gone."

"You mean that I'll go back to being Harry again?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby doesn't know, Mistress."

The elf left the distressed teens to their breakfast.

A few minutes later there were footsteps and Malfoy entered. The boy seemed a boy no longer.

"Morning, Malfoy. It got you too then?"

A nod. "Granger. Yes, and … good morning. Miss Granger, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

A wicked gleam entered Hermione's eye. "Of course, Draco. May I present the Cauntersfield Academy champion, Miss Harry Potter."

Two minutes later Malfoy was coming round, having fainted. He looked furiously at the two girls.

"Don't you ever dare to tell …"

"C'mon Malfoy, get up. How do you think I felt when I saw what happened to me? My reaction was a little less immediate since I was still half asleep, but I had hysterics instead. I think I've scarred Ron for life."

Dobby suddenly appeared beside them.

"Mistress Harry, Mistress Maggonical is asking that Mistressesses Harry and Hermie see her in her office in ten minutes."

"Thanks, Dobby. Draco, Hermione, you both coming?"

Malfoy looked at her. "Um, No. I'll have breakfast and go and hide. I really, really don't want to be doing this."

"Okay, Harry, Let's go. Moral support and all that."

.

"Harry, Hermione. Excellent. I'll come straight to the point. I've had a word with the Headmaster, and he has suggested that you two be put in the guest quarters until the tournament is finished. One of the suites has been put aside for you. I thought that since you are close, you wouldn't mind sharing a suite."

"Thank you Professor, that is an excellent idea, especially as Harry has a lot to come to terms with not having grown up a girl. He's going to need help in that department, I fear.

"Incidentally, she's going to need more clothes. I transfigured her things this morning, but I'm really not that good at it. Is there anything that she really needs to get?"

McGonagall smiled. "I would recommend a swimming costume and, perhaps, new flying robes if your old ones no longer fit. Oh, and you will both need something a bit special for a formal dance at Christmas..

"Now, both of you, we need to portkey to Berkshire to fetch Mr Dursley. I would like you to both accompany me; Harry because you know the young man in question, and Hermione, because you will keep Harry calm."

The teens nodded, and went to change into school uniform.

The trio arrived at the gates of Smeltings, and entered. The teens wearing boots, pleated skirts (Harry's was midnight blue), white button-down blouses and their school ties. All three wore open robes which resembled nothing more than the academic gowns favoured by some of the older and more exclusive schools.

Somehow, the trio were expected and were shown into the study of a big red-faced man with a fixed scowl and hands like sides of beef. The headmaster.

"Doctor McGonagall, I believe that you are here to speak with one of our pupils about having been selected for an inter-school tournament of some kind?"

"Yes, Mr Strake. I have taken the liberty of bringing two of the other school champions with me. Miss Granger, the representative of Hogwarts School and Miss Potter, representing Cauntersfield Academy. Miss Potter knows your Mr Dursley, I believe."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you three ladies … but, we are currently having some problems with Dudley. He seems to have undergone some trauma over night. You know how teenage boys can be, I'm sure."

"We would like to see him. He's been invited to attend at Hogwarts for the rest of the year while the tournament continues. He will be able to study with us, of course."

The headmaster blinked. "That is a most generous offer, Madam. I will see if Mr Dursley can be raised and brought to meet you."

.

Ten minutes later, a teenaged boy walked in. He was wearing dark grey knee-britches and grey socks. His shirt was pale green and he wore a blazer of deep maroon. The tie around his neck was purple and blue. Harry concluded that Dudley must be in Bruises House.

The boy carried a knobbly stick. He was clearly not the same boy that Harry had seen just a few weeks earlier. For one thing, he was easily a quarter of his previous weight, and for another, he was older.

.

After explanations and dire warnings about what failing to compete may mean, Dudley agreed to come with the trio.

Dudley fetched his school trunk (which was shrunk as soon as they were out of sight of the school), and they portkeyed to Diagon Alley.

"We need to get you some wizarding money and school supplies for you. I've also asked Mr Ollivander to take a look at you."

Dudley was looking around, fascinated. The freak-show was certainly worth a visit, in his opinion. It was like stepping into a fairy story …

He stopped suddenly. He was in an adventure story. His now more mature mind had suddenly realised that, whilst the magic stuff was freaky, it _was_ an adventure. He was doing something that his school friends could never do. He was suddenly special.

He stood a bit straighter, and strode purposefully forward, no longer gawking but determinedly soaking up the experience.

"So, do you know my cousin Harry?"

"Yes, very well. We've been best friends since our first year. You'll no doubt hear all kinds of things about Harry while at Hogwarts. Oh, by the way, I'm Hermione Granger."

"And I'm Harry Potter."

Dudley's head snapped round to the dark-haired beauty. "That's an unusual name for a girl. Are you and Harry related somehow then?"

Harry smiled a sphinx smile. "Closer than you can imagine. I _am_ your cousin. And before you ask, it was the same thing that caused you to be included in the tournament, and which changed you over night. You may have been shocked and scared this morning, but I was almost hysterical."

"This kind of thing happens often then?"

"Only around Miss Potter."

"Um, Harry, why is your uniform different from Hermione's?"

"Because I'm representing a different school … which just happened to be an all-girls school."

"Oh."

Harry drew several hundred galleons from his vault at Gringott's. His vault manager, Griphook made a small comment about the changes he'd undergone, and then, suddenly, double-checked his vault records.

"Miss Potter, congratulations on your coming of age. I apologise that your family vault key had not been forwarded …"

"Mr Griphook. I fear explanations are in order."

Harry explained to the Goblin.

"Ah, you are wise to explain and to request deferral. If, as you say, the charm is reversed once the tournament is over, then it would complicate matters somewhat. I will do as you wish, and if the charm isn't reversed, then we will hand over your vault keys and property deeds next summer."

.

Mr Ollivander had opened his shop especially. He checked the teens' wands, and found them somewhat wanting.

"I am embarrassed to say that these wands, while adequate, don't seem to measure up to your needs any more. We should, perhaps, try you for a better match?"

They nodded. Soon they possessed new wands. Harry also bought arm holsters for both Hermione and herself.

"And this young man … your first wand?"

McGonagall explained.

"Oh, so possibly you need a dummy wand. Never mind, let's try a few just to be sure."

The usual esoteric measurements were taken and a wand was produced.

"Give it a wave then."

Dudley did, and there was a feeble shifting of boxes, a few dim lights and a smell.

A dozen wands later, and Dudley felt a warmth flow through his arm and body, and there were a few golden sparks emerged from the wand.

"Fascinating. No great magical ability, but ability all the same. Congratulations, Mr Dursley, and welcome to your new world."

Dudley was grinning. "Looks like we're going to be sharing that cupboard under the stairs now, Harry."

This earned him an old-fashioned look from Professor McGonagall. Harry suddenly realised that this new Dudley was scarier than the old one.

.

Arriving back at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall transfigured Dudley's maroon blazer into a set of maroon robes. The boy grinned.

"Hey, I can fit in! Thanks Professor."

"We will get you the rest of your supplies next Saturday at Hogsmead. In the mean time, you will need to do a lot of catching up on three years magical study, just to be able to blend in. Don't worry, it's mostly simply learning the language for you, and I will get some of the other Hogwarts teachers to help coach you in basic spellcasting.

"Oh, and by the way, you're not actually allowed to use magic outside of school … unless the age charm doesn't get reversed next summer, that is."

.


	4. Komissar Pottera

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 4 - Kommisar Pottera**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 4 - Kommisar Pottera**

.

**Chapter 1 - Prologue**

.

"Da, it is nussink, Professore Med-veshchʹ1. It iss my … udovolʹstvie2 … my pleasure. Young kamerad Pottera vill be made most welcome. If, as you say, your Temnogo Vlastelina3, your Voldemort is not, how you say, polnostʹyu mertv4, completely dead, he will need the best trainink. It is my country's honour."

.

The negotiations complete, Dumbledore closed the international floo connection to his contact, one Magicheskie Glavnyĭ Komissar Pietr Kolesnyĭmaster5. The Chief Commissar of Aurors in the Russian Ministry of Magic was a powerful ally, and had been counted amongst Dumbledore's friends in his early days.

Albus knew that he was condemning the son of his friends to a hard childhood, but this was the only way he could see for the lad to have any hope of survival.

It was with a heavy heart that the old mage said goodbye to Harry Potter, and handed him over to the Russian Magical Attachée, Komissar Rostovshchik6.

.

.

The Russian ministry had their own seers and scryers, all specialists and experts. They had researchers in obscure arcane lore, necromancers, oneiromancers, psychomancers, telomancers and every other field of magic, and they held a single consensus: Lord Voldemort, the Temnogo Vlastelina would be back in no more than fifteen years. What was more, they could see that their young charge was fated to be the one to either defeat the Dark Lord, or to cement his ultimate victory. There was no middle ground.

At the highest levels were decisions made. Recommendations were brought before the Grand Soviet, recommendations that would see the first ever use of the new time dilation facility for an extended period.

...

_Med-veshchʹ_: Honey-thing – a nickname for a bumblebee.  
_Udovolʹstvie_: My Pleasure  
_Temnogo Vlastelina_: Dark Lord  
_Polnostʹyu mertv_: Completely dead  
_Magicheskie Glavnyĭ Komissar Pietr Kolesnyĭmaster_: Magical Chief Commissioner Pietr Kolesnyĭmaster (_Peter Wheelwright)  
Komissar Rostovshchik_: Commissioner Rostovshchik (Scrivener)

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 2 - Platform Nine and Three Quarters**

It was chaos at Kings Cross station. The chaos wasn't helped by three figures in military uniform striding across the concourse speaking Russian. An elder man was accompanied by a young woman and a young man. Arriving on platform ten, the elder man and the young woman embraced the younger man firmly, and made their farewells. The younger man stepped through a brick wall and was gone from sight.

The smell of steam and coal-smoke greeted him, reminding him of his home in Stalingrad or, as they were calling it once more, St Petersburg. He missed the sharp air of home, the bite in the air from the far distant Steppes.

Squaring his shoulders and ignoring the stares, he boarded the train behind the scarlet behemoth of an engine. Once seated, he removed his cap revealing a close-cropped mass of black hair and startling green eyes. Above his eyebrow was a silver scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

.

The snack trolley arrived and Harry bought a few of the first English magical sweets that he had had a chance to try.

"I am sorry, I only have Katya7, I didn't find a chance to change them after I arrived in England," he said in a thick, Russian accent, offering one of the large gold coins.

"Never mind dear, gold is gold as the Goblins say."

The young man smiled. "Goblinov i svoi zolotye8."

"Sorry, dear?"

"Oh, excuse. I said, Goblins and their gold. It is part of a Russian saying meaning … how is it … to each his … own, no?"

.

His journey was disturbed on two occasions by a small, ferret-faced blond boy and a girl who seemed to be made up entirely of nervous energy and bushy brown hair. The first was rude but seemed to be intimidated by Harry's military appearance, the girl was respectful and helping one of the first years to find his missing toad.

"Does this toad havink a name?"

"Neville calls him Trevor…"

Harry's wand was raised. "_Ya prizyv zhaba Nevilla, Trevora!_"9

A few moments later, a toad flew through the door and into Harry's hand. The girl thanked him politely and left with the toad.

.

"Mr Potter! Mr Potter?"

"I am Komissar Pottera, madame."

Professor McGonagall looked up into the startling green eyes of the young man towering over her.

She smiled. "It is a long time since I last saw you, Mr Potter. You have grown."

Harry smiled at the elder witch. "Perhaps more than ten years of growink, no?"

"The headmaster warned me that you had changed, but I had no idea. Now, please follow me and we'll get you to the castle."

They approached the carriages and Harry paused. "Smerti loshadyeĭ?10 How remarkable."

"You can see them?"

"Yes … there was much … krovavaya boĭnya11 … death and destructions after the Old Soviet collapsed. I am a soldier, after all, no?"

McGonagall was shaken. At least Albus had seen fit to not place the boy … man, she corrected herself, with the first years.

"Forgive me, Mr Potter, but how old are you, exactly?"

The young man smiled a crooked smile.

"I am havink eleven winters, but many, many more days, you are understandink? Eleven winters and twenty-two years I am havink."

"You were under two-to-one time dilation?"

"Nyet, five years at seven to one with days off, four years in service with Magiya Psihicheskaya Korpusa12 … part of the Russian army, no?"

...

_Katya_ – Russin gold coin equivalent to about 1½ Galleon or 100 Imperial Roubles (Old Russian money)  
_Goblinov i svoi zolotye, Gnomy i ih zheleza_: Goblins and their gold, Dwarfs and their iron. Each to his own.  
_Ya prizyv zhaba Nevilla, Trevora_: I summon Neville's toad, Trevor  
_Smerti loshadyei_̆: Death horses (Thestrals).  
_krovavaya boĭnya_: Carnage.  
_Magiya Psihicheskaya Korpusa_: Magical Psi Corps.

_._


	5. Psychoscape

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 5 - Psychoscape**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 5 - Psychoscape**

.

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well . But as the train with Harry's children on board left for Hogwarts, all was not well, and Harry Potter survived the opening salvo of a new and more deadly Third Wizarding War.

And then comes the fourth war, and Harry Potter is no longer there to help, he is a legend of long ago ...

.

.

**Introduction**

.

All seems peaceful on the surface: Men and women going about their business, muggles and wizards alike. Trade continues, business happens, life goes on … to an outside observer, there would seem to be nothing wrong in the world. Who would believe that under the peaceful surface there is a war going on … a war for the survival of the human race.

Deep in the underbelly of the peaceful world of the twenty fifth century there is a war raging, fought not in the streets and corridors of the city, not in the fields and forests of the countryside, nor in the tunnels of industry, the companionways of satellites and starships, nor even the domed environments of the colonies of the moon.

No, this war rages in a very familiar place to all of us, it is being fought in the collective subconscious of every man, woman and child of human descent, and moreover, it has continued to be fought since 1996, though now on a different battlefield.

Lord Voldemort: A creature whose soul had been torn and mutilated in his attempts to forever avoid death was defeated last in 1998 by a teenaged wizard named Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Voldemort had taken more precautions to preserve his existance than merely a handful of horcruces.

Mad, he may have been, but never, ever unintelligent. Even as the magical construct he used as a body was about to be hit by his own killing curse, he fled. Once more a wraith, he was able to return nineteen years later …

Defeated again more by the self-sacrifice of _The Nine_, his essence hung on. No longer magically strong enough to build a new body, Voldemort began a new campaign, claiming not the bodies and hearts of wizards but the very souls of men and women of both worlds.

.

.

**Chapter 1: The Third War**

.

It began on platform nine and three-quarters, King's Cross Station, at 11:02 AM, September first, 2017.

_The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry's hand was still raised in farewell._

_'He'll be all right,' murmured Ginny._

_As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absemt-mindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead._

_'I know he will.'_

_The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well._

(Closing words of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.)

.

As they turned to return to the portal to the mundane world, the world turned white and they were flung willy-nilly along the platform amidst a wash of unbearable heat.

Harry let forth a string of invective, language rarely used since the birth of his eldest.

As he opened his eyes, he saw that the portal had been destroyed, and beyond …

The muggle side of Kings Cross was a scene from The Inferno, bathed in the red light of hellfire, the twisted metal of the roof was melted and burned. Beyond, the victorian brick walls were smashed and Harry could see the street outside, burning cars and wrecked buildings, and everywhere the dead and dying, more of the former than not.

He looked at his wife and his heart broke into pieces. Face down and neck at an impossible angle lay Ginny Potter, impaled by a piece of flying debris, an injury none could survive.

A groan caught his attention and his head swivelled, bringing him a view of familiar brown curls rising from behind a tangle of station-platform debris. She looked past Harry and her eyes grew wide.

"Holy ….. shhhhhhh …"

Harry rose somewhat and turned. The entire station canopy was gone, the buildings surrounding the rail-line were gone and ….

.

"Ground zero … a school special carrying nearly six hundred secondary pupils on their way to a boarding school in Scotland …"

The picture on the screen showed the flattened and star-torn shape of the Hogwarts Express.

"… There were no survivors …"

Dudley Dursley sat, his mind reeling. His cousin's children would have been on that train, his own daughter was due to start at that same school next year. His cousin … damn, Harry would have been on the platform.

.

"Hermione?"

"Ron didn't make it …"

She flung herself into her friend's arms and cried for the loss of her family – husband and children, all gone in one flash of nuclear hell.

Harry joined her in her grief. It was just the two of them now.

.

"How did so many magicals survive? There were so few of our people who got out alive, let alone unscathed."

The head of MI5 looked at the members of the committee.

"Magicals are more … resilient than us. They are shielded, somewhat, by their magic. Their magic heals them constantly, at least to a point. The weaker mages died, and any who were fatally injured by debris. Most magicals tend to … bounce when you drop them from a height."

"Invulnerability?"

"No, more like fire-resistant motorcycle leathers."

.

"Was it muggle technology?"

The dishevelled brunette with singed curls and dead, chocolate eyes looked at Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic.

"No, it was a hybrid. A magically enhanced nuclear device with about a twenty kiloton yield and next to no radiation other than heat and light. There is no evidence that any nuclear material was used at all. An impossibly 'clean' device."

The prime minister looked at the woman. The head of Military Intelligence looked at her. Both had seen action during the various campaigns of the past thirty years. They saw an expert running on emotional empty.

"You know about nuclear weapons?"

The woman nodded. "I was raised mundane."

Her voice was flat, but there was an edge that chilled the members of the security committee. Those who had been in the forces knew that voice, the voice of a soldier in war-mode. The voice of death waiting to happen.

The dark-haired youth with the scar spoke.

"Hermione has probably the most powerful intellect that you will ever meet. I have never known her to be wrong …"

.

Green eyes peered out from under a magically enhanced helmet. The still-burning skeletons of central London's office-blocks surrounded the squad led by the young mage.

"Ground zero … "

A wand was produced and a series of gestures and muttered incantations later and he smiled grimly.

"Accio bomb-fragments … "

A number of tiny, twisted fragments flew toward him and were deftly caught in an aluminium container.

He frowned. "He's back … " he whispered.

.

"This terrorist, Lord Voldemort? He has a way to beat death?"

Algernon Croaker nodded. "This is his second reappearance in person, so to speak. When Mr Potter defeated him the second time …"

"Mr Potter? The young man who … ?"

Croaker nodded. "He was prophesied to defeat Voldemort. He had to destroy a number of extremely … dark artefacts that were keeping the Dark Lord's soul anchored to this world before he could kill him."

"But he missed one?"

Croaker shook his head. "No, he must have used a second method, probably through the magic and life-force of his marked followers. If any remain with his Dark Mark, then they are likely to sustain him. I'm surprised that it could possibly work …"

"But the evidence is that it has done so."

Croaker nodded.

.

"The bombs are being delivered by portkey, they are being enchanted by Voldemort in person, and they are using powdered depleted uranium half of which is then being transfigured into anti-matter, which in turn is then held in stasis. Each bomb has less than a gramme of anti-matter, the whole thing is the size of a walnut."

She paused for a moment.

"The portkey probably removes the device from a stasis container. It is in the process of detonating as it travels. With the flight-time of a portkey, I'd estimate that it travels less than five miles from launch to detonation."

"Could you build one yourself?"

The woman shook her head. "There's only one other person with the power and skill to do this."

"Whom?"

"Harry Potter," she breathed.

.

Harry looked at the tennis-ball sized device and cast the portkey charm.

"launch in three … two … one …"

The device disappeared in a swirl of colour and the sky over the Atlantic Ocean turned white with the unsuppressed fury of a very small supernova.

He nodded at Hermione, she nodded back.

"Now all we need is to find him."

"The scar isn't going to be any use at all?"

He shook his head. "There's no connection anymore."

.

"Harry?"

He looked at his old friend.

"Neville."

"I want to help. We did it once, we can do it again."

Harry nodded.

.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry looked up to see the now familiar face of the head of the Department of Mysteries.

"There is something you should see … in the Hall of Prophesies."

Harry groaned.

The globe was large and dust-covered. Harry looked at Croaker.

"According to the catalogue, this prophesy was made in about fifteen-eighty. Just take it down and tap it with your wand."

Harry did so. A ghostly figure emerged, a man with narrow features, a close cap of leather and a neatly trimmed beard. A quiet voice spoke, deep and rich with a distinctly rural accent.

_"The final war approaches and he who has embraced and mastered death will face he who flies from death.  
"The conqueror of death shall rise for the third time and shall face he who will defeat him for the third time.  
"A single cord for the first, seven ropes for the second, and three times thrice threefold chains for the third.  
"Nine shall face him, one shall prevail yet three shall return from the wrack of battle.  
"And seven shall again face the shadows yet to be cast ere the final victory.  
"The final war approaches …"_

Croaker looked shocked. "Twenty seven anchors … twenty seven marked Death Eaters …"

"But what of the final line, Algie?"

The unspeakable shook his head. "I have no idea, but I suspect that he will be back again one last time …"

.

The end of the third Voldemort War ended on 31 October 2023 at 7:47 in the evening when Harry J Potter, assisted by Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones and Fred Weasley destroyed the old Riddle manor in Little Hangleton, ably aided by three members of the British Armed Forces.

"Ward-stones are placed, Harry. Whenever you're ready."

Harry nodded. "Get yourselves out of here, everyone."

Hermione gasped. "Can't be done, Harry … we need to keep the wards powered up once we erect them."

Harry Potter swore.

"Then dig in. I need to get the package through Riddle's wards, so I'm stuck too."

"Just do it Harry. I'm ready to be with Ron again."

The dark-haired man smiled grimly.

"Anyone not here for the long dark needs to get out now. We go in thirty seconds and counting."

No one moved.

"I'll see you guys on the other side."

"yeah, see you there, Nev."

"Anti-transport wards are active and holding. Blast-containment wards are up and looking good …"

"Bye guys, it's been good knowing you. Launch in three … two … one …"

A swirl of light and the metal ball in Harry's hand disappeared. A loud gonging noise signalled its piercing of the anti-portkey wards around the house and everything ended in brilliance.

Somehow, Hermione Weasley and Luna Scamander survived the detonation, largely unscathed. They were found in a dip in the ground at the edge of the glass-lined bowl that had formerly been the old Riddle manor.

.

.

**Chapter 2: The Coming of The Shadow**

.

"What is it A.C?"

The screen on the head of magical security's desk showed the face of a man long dead partially overlain by data readouts, his long-deceased predecessor in the department, Algernon Croaker now returned as an AI - an artificial intelligence personality.

"The final line of prophesy JDee-HJP-TMR-003 has activated. The Counsel are agreed in our analyses to within a factor of one in six million. A further prophesy has also activated, but we have no access to the content."

"What reference?"

"Another JDee sphere. Row 23; block seven; shelf three - it is labelled _shadow war_."

"I'll send someone down."

"No. The sphere is active and protected. We believe who may retrieve it, but he has been dead since October 2023."

"Then there is no hope …"

"There is always hope. That is why prophesy exists."

The screen blanked. The time was 07:32 on 17 January 2485 (old calendar).

.

Security Director Trivet's files showed a marked increase in sociopathic behaviour. Extreme sociopathic behaviour, in fact. There had always been a few maladjusted individuals, but the system tended to weed them out and to use their violent tendencies to advantage.

Now, he was looking at five files containing details of vicious, motiveless murders of incredible violence. Messy deaths. Protracted deaths in which the victim suffered for hours at least.

Crimes of passion he could handle – the deaths were typically accidental in any case, remorse being shown within seconds. These, however … the perpetrators seemed to delight in the suffering they caused. There hadn't been a crime of this type in over a century, and now five. There was a half-meter stack of files detailing lesser anti-social behaviours: arson, vandalism, violent clashes, thefts, muggings. All minority occurances until this past month.

And the rapes … he cringed. There was no shortage of willing men and women of any age, but these were acts of violence, of domination and cruelty having nothing to do with the normal sexual frustrations of modern society.

.

Lana Mackaye woke from a dream. No, a nightmare. She had been running through a burning wilderness of broken buildings, the skeletal steelwork pointing dead fingers at a burned, dark sky. She was being pursued by a … by a monster. A creature ten feet tall with silver, metallic skin , a noseless face, bloody, steel teeth and glowing, red slits for eyes.

It was shooting energy beams at her while laughing insanely and taunting her in its hissing voice. Where the coloured light struck, things were destroyed, burned, warped, blasted and annihilated.

She recognised battle magic when she saw it in use. She had seen the space-marines' war-games, the men and women who fought to protect the colonists on alien worlds using a mixture of magic and technology, but this dream …

This dream was visceral, dark and very, very primitive. This was a primordial hunt, not the clean, well-drilled techno-magic of the current day.

As ever, she documented her dream in great detail, including sketches and notations. It was not the first of these dreams by a long way, but it was the worst so far.

The following morning, as she arrived at work, she felt an overwhelming urge to rip her boss's throat out with her bare hands. The man was kind, polite, friendly and generous. He had done nothing to earn her ire, but she felt the urge to kill him.

She called security and had herself escorted to a mind-healer.

The mind healer forwarded his report to Magical Security, along with the files documenting Lana's dreams.

She wasn't the first case of this type he had seen, nor would she be the last, but her almost obsessive self-reporting had given them all a first clue regarding the nature of what was happening. This was, by all accounts, some kind of legilimency attack.

.

"Director."

The screen lit up to show the image of a woman with a mass of brown curls and chocolate brown eyes.

"H.G?"

"Yes director."

The flat voice surprised the director somewhat. He had never heard of the Granger AI personality interacting outside of The Counsel or Military Intelligence. The voice was flat, emotionless and, he felt, carried a dangerous edge to it.

"The code is: 'He Is Back.' Condition Black, confirmed."

The screen returned to the report that Director Trivet had been reading beforehand, and was now forgotten.

"Get me President Delacoeur. We have a situation."

A pause, and then the screen lit with a security logo followed by a request for voice recognition.

"Delacoeur here, what is it Jeff?"

"The Granger AI. Apparently 'He Is Back.' Condition Black, and it is confirmed."

"Damn … this means we have a war on our hands, but …"

"Where is the violence? The terrorist …"

Trivet's voice trailed off.

"The upsurge of violent crime … it's a psychological war, isn't it?"

Delacoeur's head shook. "No, it's a psychic war, but we have no idea how to deal with it."

"How … ?"

"Other departments have seen the patterns too, and I received a report this morning from Cardiff. A young woman has documented the progress of an attack on herself. We even know who, but not the how."

"Response options? We have options?"

The president looked beaten then. "None. We have no idea how the attack is being launched, let alone how to counter-attack. Even worse, it's not limited to Earth. The Lunar and Mars colonies are reporting psychopathic behaviours in some of the most stable individuals we know."

"Then we're … beaten … before we even start …"

"No, the Croaker AI says that there is hope. Two of their prophesies have activated."

.

.

**Chapter 2: The Return of The Light**

.

The time was 01:17 on 31 October 2487 (old calendar), and the lights dimmed suddenly in the old Ministry of Magic in London.

The ministry, long abandoned for a less secretive high-rise, now served as a museum and as the continued home of the Department of Mysteries located deep below the old administrative levels.

Alarms, long forgotten, blared through the empty corridors. The voice of a witch dead for over half a millennium spoke to ears that no longer listened.

A security guard made a hasty call to the Department of Magical Security. Lists of names were read and calls went out.

An armed party of Space Marines and senior intelligence officers made their way into the depths of the old Department of Mysteries, far below the levels that carried the modern workload.

The torches in the Death Chamber were already lit when they entered and took up positions. The veil arch was afire with the various runes hidden in its surface all aglow, the membrane of the veil was whipping with an unexpected violence in an eldrich wind unfelt by those present.

A heaviness like thunder pervaded the atmosphere, making breathing uncomfortable.

The torches flickered and dimmed as a sepulchral glow emanated from beyond the veil. As it grew in intensity, shadowed figures could be seen approaching as though through a long tunnel.

The shadows grew as they came closer and, finally, they stepped in ones and twos through the veil that filled the arch. As the last stepped through, the light snapped out and the torches flared to full brightness.

Seven figures. Seven men and women dressed in traditional robes, each seemed in their thirties. Each carried a duffel bag and a staff.

.

"Well, I never expected to see THIS place again."

The man's voice carried an old-fashioned accent, one only now encountered in a holo-vid play.

"Too right, Padfoot, but I suppose it makes sense, after all."

This other male had a subtly different accent, though just as archaic.

"Um, guys? We have a welcoming committee …"

The third male, larger than the other two, pointed out the marines.

"Ummm …. Hi? I think it's traditional to say, around this point, take us to your leader?"

The crooked smile on the green-eyed male was quite disarming, especially when one of the females hit him upside the head.

"Harry! Stop being silly. They're probably armed and wondering whether to shoot first or to ask questions first."

.

A voice from the amphitheatre whispered, "Oh Merlin … they're back …"

"Who're back, Boss?"

"Look at them. The Granger and Potter AI's in the middle. The Longbottom AI on the right. No idea about the others …"

The three named individuals looked up.

"You know us?"

"Damn …"

He hadn't expected the newcomers to have such sharp hearing.


	6. Cracks in Time

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 6 - Cracks in Time**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 6 - Cracks in Time**

.

The Dark has triumphed and Harry is on a mission assigned by no other than The Pope himself - alone in a network of catacombs deep under The Vatican. Passing through a portal, he will find himself lost in time – in his own past.

.

There are elements drawn from a broad range of fictional worlds and a certain amount of very bad Latin and Greek. Normally these would be covered by a slew of author's notes in an extended introduction, but instead - I have omitted them entirely.

.

The Vatican and certain aspects of The Church, as depicted, is a fantasy mix based very loosely on a real place and organisation.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Part One: Triumphos of Atrum Senior (The Triumph of the Dark Lord)**

-::::::::-

**Chapter 1: Dictum a Priore**

.

The year was 2012. The tide of war had swept both wizarding and muggle Britain before it, opposed only by a small resistance organisation known simply as The Phoenix. At the forefront of the resistance movement stood a young wizard, Harry James Potter, the rag-tag remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and the now legendary Dumbledore's Army.

.

Harry Potter had, indeed, defeated the so-called Dark Lord in 1998, at the Battle of Hogwarts, killing the barely-human revenant of Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort, however, had a final trump card to play. Even though his horcruces had been destroyed, his soul remained anchored to the mortal plane by the dark magic used to create the brand applied to his Death Eaters, the Dark Mark.

.

The uneasy peace following Riddle's defeat lasted less than two years before the remaining Death Eaters successfully resurrected the Dark Lord now styling himself Lord Voldemort Draconiumbrus – The Dark Dragon.

.

_The Phoenix_ was reborn within days of Voldemort's return, led by the now adult Harry Potter, who insisted that his allies learn whatever they could of whatever lore they could find to defeat the Dark One once and for all. It was they who led the fight against the resurgent evil.

.

The last of the Phoenix's leaders fell in October 2012. Dying, the seer Luna Lovegood told Harry Potter to travel to Rome, to present himself at the Vatican Gate bearing the amulet given him by Albus Dumbledore.

.

Travelling by illegal portkey, apparation and broom, the scarred and travel-worn mage finally presented himself in early November of that year. So came the last warrior of the light to the gates of the last bastion of the light, and thus began a journey even more fantastical than that which had led him to that place.

.

Even in defeat he was an imposing figure. Grizzled and bearded, he commanded not only the mundane magics but other more obscure powers. It was claimed that he was a shape-shifter and more learnéd even than Merlin.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 2 Megiddion in Extremis**

.

"You, My Child, are all that stands between the light and the tide of evil that now threatens to extinguish for ever all that is good. My counsellors tell me that this devil incarnate, the Antichrist himself is now sufficiently powerful that there remains no hope in this time.

"Here we may endure for a small while, but soon the dark tide will engulf us. We have only the candle's hope of drying the oceans. You who have lost so much already represent our only hope, and now I must ask you to give up everything else that yet remains."

"Your Grace, if I don't do this, will anything be left? I can see no alternative. I will, of course do this, but I must ask for three things in return."

"My Child, anything which is in my power to grant, it is yours."

Harry smiled at the old man, the leader of the most widespread religious organisation on Earth, and one of the most powerful people remaining in these dark times.

"Holy Father, I would ask for guidance from those I know are within The Vatican who are learnéd in magical lore. I would ask that you remember those who have gone before me as I will not return from this journey, and I would ask that you consider removing the Decree of Anathema against Wizard-folk."

The temporal head of The Church smiled at the young man, wondering at his simple requests.

"It will be done, and I will remember you in my prayers for as long as I am able to frame the words."

"For us all, then."

"Farewell, _Belmagus_ Potter. I fear that we shall not meet again this side of Paradise. Frère Bernard will escort you to the closed library, and we will equip you as best we may. God Speed, My Son."

The old pontiff raised his hand in the ancient gesture, and Harry felt the magic of the blessing, understanding that this was yet another manifestation of that power that flowed also in his own veins.

The friar, a small man with a sombre countenance led the young man down into the great underbelly of the Vatican. Harry guessed that few outsiders knew that, like an iceberg, seven eighths of the city was below the surface.

In a massive chamber, the mirror of the Pantheon in Istanbul, Harry met a number of the Tellic Scholars. These monks wore brown robes not unlike his own maroon ones.

"Brother Bernard, I'm curious, do you not buy your electricity from outside of The Vatican?"

The friar chuckled. "Only enough for the public areas. We have our own power station deep underground. We are, as you have guessed, self-sufficient here. Now, I must leave you with Magister Septus. I am not permitted beyond the library door.

"Thank you Brother."

He bowed. "Magister Septus."

The scholar eyed the wizard.

"So this is the man who was foretold. Yes, _Magus_ Potter, we have been waiting for you for a very long time."

Harry blinked at the use of the title. At thirty two, he felt less like a magus than he had at eight.

Harry was surprised to see the words of Dumbledore's amulet carven above the door. _Ac Tellus nil vid Aeternum_. Unto the Earth without view of Eternity. The words that had granted him access to The Vatican and to The Pope himself.

.

A month was all that Harry managed there. A month of learning by magic. A month learning everything he could about the place he would be travelling to, about the deep magics forbidden by the Mother Church except _in extremis_. A month during which Harry learned more than he had in his previous years in the wizarding world.

"Magus Potter, it is time. You must hurry. The Dark One is knocking at the gate even as we speak. Take this, it is the decree _Megiddio in extremis_. The hour of Armageddon is at hand. The Holy Father also sends this."

He pressed into Harry's palm a ring. The same ancient amethyst ring that Harry had kissed when he met the Holy Father those brief weeks past.

"He has decided to face The Dark One alongside us all. Now, fly. There will be time to rest on the other side of the portal. There are supplies waiting for you beyond the first gate. We will not meet again this side of Purgatory. Go with whatever blessings you can carry. Farewell."

Harry grabbed his pack and rushed from his small chamber. Maroon robes billowing, he passed through the gateway. The great, iron gates swung shut followed immediately by the heavy bronze doors. He manually released a very modern stainless steel portcullis which effectively prevented those doors from ever swinging open again.

In the dim light of the scant electric bulbs strung along the corridor, he made his way past the assorted guardians of the catacombs and the deep places of the earth.

He swung shut the double sets of oak and bronze doors that he passed through. As he reached the first sanctuary he felt, rather than heard the detonation of high explosives and the collapse of the Tellic library.

As he killed the lights in the corridor he had passed down, he said a short prayer for the souls of the monks who had died to protect the secret of Harry's onward journey.

He retrieved the shrunken packages of supplies that were waiting for him, and placed them in his belt pouches. He rested briefly, reviewing the mental map of his path from here to the portal.

.

Picking up his staff, he left the sanctuary, closing the cunning stone doorway behind him, barring it with a centuries-old bronze gate like the portcullis of the first gate. As he did, he recited the words around the amulet that Albus Dumbledore had entrusted him with.

And in so doing, he left the world behind him.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 3 Ultra Porta Ultima**

.

_"It is a nine day journey to the portal."_

_"Nine days? But I can walk across Rome in a few hours."_

_"Yes, and across The Vatican in two. Indeed, the Aegean Sea is only five days afoot from Rome. Remember that the journey you undertake is far beyond mere space and time. Your journey will shape your spirit and your powers until you are the exact instrument of God. Others have passed before you to do God's will, but none who have acted in the face of Armageddon itself."_

.

Harry had been walking for five days. He had met … incidents. He had been called upon to use magical and mundane weapons, he had prayed with clerics long departed from the world and he had learned at the knees of teachers forgotten in ages past.

He was tired, mentally and physically. He was bone-weary, and ready to drop, but knowing that his time was limited, he pressed on.

At last, he made camp in one of the sanctuaries in the labyrinthine catacombs. And he slept.

"You have time aplenty, young warrior. Once you closed and sealed the second gate, you no longer existed in the same time or space as the world you came from. Here, no time passes, and distance is as nothing. You can cross the universe in the blink of an eye and yet the time between heartbeats is as a life-age of the universe."

Harry sat, recognising that he was dreaming, and yet, this was more than a dream …

.

Harry woke, and picking up his pack, he set off. It wasn't until hours had passed that he realised that he had neither eaten nor drunk since he left the Tellic Library.

.

At last, nine days since his precipitate departure from the world, he arrived at the chamber of the portal. He decided to rest before entering, and was soon asleep. This time, his dreams were of his friends, his family, his comrades in arms.

He remembered each and their fall. The list, the roll of honour for those who died for him was depressing in its length. The defeats, the towns and villages that fell before Voldemort's unstoppable tide. The fall of Britain, then France, most of Europe. Simultaneous offences in America, Asia, Eastern Europe, Africa.

As each country fell, as the noose tightened, Harry and his remaining comrades fell back, and back further.

At last, a dying Luna Lovegood told him to head to The Vatican, to show his amulet and to hope. With the passing of the last of his friends, he had finally passed beyond hope and vengeance and into that cold, still lagoon of desperation. He had arrived in Rome and found his way to that strange city state, Vatican City.

He was amazed when, asking for an audience with someone, he showed his amulet. An olive tree in a circular frame, the back panel being inscribed with a Latin motto and a strange sigil. He was told immediately to follow, and he was led beyond the public sector, and into the heart of Christendom.

He had been taken to a suite of rooms and told to make himself comfortable. A bath had eased his aches. He had emerged to find the maroon robes waiting for him. The maroon robes that seemed to act as a pass to anywhere in the massive complex.

.

Refreshed and once more at peace with himself, he rose. He placed the papal ring on his right index finger and his family signet on his right middle finger.

Harry's greying hair, never cut since his eleventh birthday, was worn in a queue, held by the silver and bronze hair-ring given him by Hermione on his seventeenth birthday. His left ring finger bore the wedding ring of his now dead wife.

Since his arrival in the Papal complex, he had become accustomed to wearing the _singletta_, a lightweight one piece robe with a high mandarin collar and short sleeves, cinched at the waist by a sash that hid a pouch-belt. Over this he wore the maroon _habitias_, an open-fronted robe that was worn loose. Under all, he wore the long, loose pants of black linen that he was assured were quite appropriate. The amulet he wore around his neck, outside his _singletta_, where the priests and monks had worn crosses of varying design.

Overall, he wore a light, hooded cloak of royal blue bearing the crossed spear and crosier of the Papal Knights of Saint Michael the Avenger. The mitre that crowned the crest told its own story, one that Harry found slightly embarrassing.

At his back, peeking from a slit in the cloak, he carried a sheathed sword of ancient design. His wand and those of Hermione, Susan and Luna were in holsters on his forearms, and Dumbledore's Olive and Mermaid-hair wand was in his boot beside McGonagall's and Ron's, close to the knives he always carried.

In all, he looked less like the battle-worn refugee than he had when he had arrived in Rome nearly seven weeks before. Now he looked like some figure from a medieval painting, carrying a walking staff of red thorn-wood and wearing a pointed goatee beard, greying like his hair with a streak of white from a hex some years before.

He squared his shoulders and lifted his pack. He entered the portal chamber with it's blue-glowing doorway.

.

Before him stood a massive, square archway, grey stone glistening with the first light of creation.

"You know that once you pass this gateway there is no turning back."

"There is none. The Holy Father has issued the Decree of Megiddion and the way is closed forever. I stand as emissary for both the magical and the mundane worlds."

"Who so stands?"

"I so stand. Harry James Potter, Abbot Episcopal, Papal Knight of Saint Michael the Avenger and bearer of the Papal Signet."

"And how shall you stand?"

"Toward the Earth with no view of Eternity."

"Then pass through the portal and be judged."

Harry entered the blue-rimed blackness.

.

Harry walked for what seemed to be hours. There was fine sand beneath his feet, but he could feel the solid stone about an inch below. He was surrounded by that unearthly glistening, but refused to illuminate his way by wand-light or otherwise.

At last, he passed beyond the portal, and found himself on a hillside beneath the stars set in a sky of deepest blue. There was no moon and the desert sands below lay, starlit, about him as far as he could see.

Looking behind him, he could see that he had emerged from a great structure set in the hillside.

A figure detached itself from the shadows.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore?"

He could feel the smile. "Yes Harry, and welcome to your next great adventure."

"I'm dead?"

"No, Harry … and yes. As far as the world you came from is concerned, you are as dead as any proverbial dead thing. As far as the universe is concerned, you are still alive, if only _in potentio_. Your case has been judged, but the decision is yet to be made."

"The portal?"

"Yes, it is a portal between worlds, and in travelling the paths, your soul and your reason for making the journey is judged. Please don't ask how or who by, as I would have to admit my ignorance. There are greater powers in the universe than mere wizards, Harry."

"Then, where to next, Professor?"

"Well, to somewhere a little more comfortable, I should think."

So saying, the mage set off across the hillside.

.

They arrived at a massively built structure, like a cross between the pyramids and some piece of modern art. Entering the building, they were greeted by torch-light and the smells of food. There was the sound of people, perhaps a feast.

"Where are we, Professor?"

"Welcome to Thebes, Harry. This is not, I hasten to tell you, the place where you will come when you finally die, this is more like a way-station, a caravanserai. This is a place where the living, the dead and the … in-between are able to meet. A kind of limbo between worlds. When we met before, after _he_ cast the second killing curse on you, that was an aspect of this place, but you are now in a much more, how should I put it, powerful position. You are here this time in body, not in spirit.

"Now, come and join the party."

.

They entered a large chamber, a room big enough to swallow Hogwarts whole. There were fire pits and tables, blankets and cushions, and people of all races, colours and, if Harry was any judge, places in history.

As Harry entered, the room went quiet.

"What is it, Professor?"

"You, Harry. You are the last. It is upon you that the continuance of our world rests. You are the pivot upon which the turning of the world relies. If you fail, there will be no others coming here."

The murmur of conversation returned slowly, but at a much lower level than before.

An old woman approached.

" 'Arry Potter, chronika spasimata oloi cosmoi. Epidiorthost ton cosmoi chresimopoiontas to chaos gia na allazei tou chronou." [Harry Potter, time fractures all worlds. Mend your worlds using chaos to change time.]

Having passed on her message, she departed, vanishing in a mist of dust.

Dumbledore blinked. "Did you …?"

"Yes thanks, professor. My Greek is quite passable since I started studying at The Vatican. So is my Hieratic and my Classical Egyptian. Just be thankful she wasn't speaking one of the Gaelic tongues."

"Why Harry?"

"I have only a smattering of Irish, Welsh and Scots. Mainly from various people cursing roundly in those languages."

Dumbledore laughed. "Minerva cursing?"

Harry nodded, smiling at his memories of the dour witch.

"Harry, I know about the death-stick. It turned up here a while ago with Miss Bones."

Harry smiled.

"It was a bit of a trick. Susan was dying, and I got her to duel me. I was … slow with my shield, so the Elder Wand passed to her. She died before anyone else could take control from her."

"Excellent, Harry. What about the horcruces?"

"All gone, but he has some other anchor as well. Hermione believed that it was to do with the dark mark on the death eaters' arms. The Tellic Scholars tended to agree. They resurrected him eighteen months after I defeated him. He's even less human now than he was last time, and the death eaters are even more fanatical."

"And you, Harry?"

"I've lost everything. If I want my life to be worth anything at all, then I have to do whatever I can to reverse the changes he has made. The Pope has even enacted the Decree of Megiddion."

Dumbledore's face became set. "Merlin's beard, Harry. He's become _that_ powerful? The end of civilisation … the end of the world. He has started the final battle?"

"Not quite, but the light has failed. The Holy Father was taking up arms himself. I left at the Breaking of All Calendars."

Harry showed Dumbledore the amethyst ring. The professor sat heavily, shaking his head.

"Yule 2012, the end of the world, as foretold by so many seers. How can you hope …?"

"Because despair is unthinkable."

.

They sat in silence for a time. At last a young man approached. "Harry Potter, you will follow me. Albus Dumbledore, also."

They were led into the now moonlit desert. A large Bedouin-style tent stood amongst the trees of an oasis. They were bid enter. A man in medieval clothing greeted them.

"Greetings and welcome. I am Thomas Mallory. I have news for you.

"Harry, you are to be given the opportunity to make right what is wrong in the world. There is a single act that must be corrected, and you must steer events to an agreeable conclusion. I am sure that I don't have to explain the risks involved with time travel, but you will not be able to take direct action in any way that is, to those closely involved, obviously outside interference, you may only steer events. You may, however, use dreams and subtlety as well as your … position in The Church. There are safeguards in place, whatever you can change can be changed, events that are fixed will remain so. Even so, The Powers have granted you unprecedented latitude."

"Albus Dumbledore, for your involvement in the creation of the environment that caused the current situation to arise, you will serve as Mr Potter's hidden eyes and ears in the world. As a free-roaming spirit, you will be able to observe unseen, but you will not be able to interact with any but Mr Potter.

"Do you both understand? Any questions?"

Harry and Dumbledore nodded.

"Just one thing," Harry asked, "what is the single event?"

"Your marriage. You were wed to the wrong woman and far too late. You must be bonded with your soul-mate on or before the winter solstice of your seventeenth year."

An arrow seemed to pass through Harry's heart. "But…?"

The knight smiled sympathetically. "Just one word … Amortentia."

"Love potions? Who? Wha … Why?"

"Someone who wanted a rich son in law and a big, happy family. They are scheduled for a long time _impurgatore_ for interfering with a fated couple, no matter what the outcome. You could … reduce their discomfort."

"We'll see. Very well, let us be off?"

"Just one other thing, Harry. You will need these."

Harry accepted a folded parchment and an old-fashioned key. The parchment contained the message, _The Abbot Episcopal, Johannus Petraxus Kethrington resides at Old Bishop's Mews, Haughsdale_.

"Everything you need will be there when you arrive by train. Your housekeeper is a squib by the name of Mrs Hannah Beltravois. You will be taking up your post as Defence Master at Hogwarts in September, but as an Abbot Episcopal, you will have other duties, too."

"Pardon?"

"You are, you know, a Papal Agent, after all, and some time you will have to return His Holiness's ring."

Harry just felt a lurch in his heart.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 4 Haughsdale**

.

Harry walked through a doorway in the back of the tent, and found himself on a train not unlike the Hogwarts Express. There were a few passengers in the compartments, and Harry could see where he had apparently been travelling, with only a valise and a despatch case.

He sat down and opened the dispatch case, noting the fine red leather exterior and the papal arms.

He read (in Latin) the letters patent issued by his Holiness, assigning him to the See of Haughsdale. He found his various legal papers and diplomatic passport, according to which he had arrived from Rome that morning. He looked through other papers which contained a reasonable history of himself, a briefing on his duties in Haughsdale and his appointment as DADA tutor for this year. He suddenly realised that in his previous life he was soon to celebrate his fifth birthday, if celebrate could be the right word. Today was July 20, 1985.

.

Haughsdale was a semi-wizarding village next to the rail-line that went on to Hogsmead. For most passenger trains, Haughsdale was the end of the line, indeed, to muggle eyes, the line beyond was derelict and overgrown.

The climb to Hogsmead was a mere three miles, up the River Haugh which had its source in the Great Lake before Hogwarts Castle. It was about ten minutes by broom. Old Bishop's Mews lay on the northern outskirts of the village on the hill overlooking the small church with its crumbling tower and overgrown churchyard. The modern Anglican vicar of Haughsdale lived in a modern house below the church.

Harry let himself into the house and was greeted by Mrs Beltravois.

"Good morning yer grace. How was yer journey?"

"It was excellent, Mrs Beltravois, thank you. Now, before we go any further, I need to get settled in a bit. Oh, and I'd rather not be _your grace_ if you can remember. Reverend Kethrington for public use or John in private, please?"

The woman looked a little shocked. "But, sir, you are …"

Harry smiled kindly.

"That I may be, but there is no need to excessive formality around me. One of the things I was looking forward to in coming back to Scotland was the friendliness of the people."

She spluttered a bit. "I was told that … Papal Envoy … Knight …"

"Mrs Beltravois, I have no idea how long I will be back in Britain, and I really do like to be on friendly terms with whoever is around me. Now, please try to call me _John_, I find Johannus to be a bit of a mouthful."

"In which case, I'm Hannah."

"Pleased to meet you, Hannah." Harry smiled and shook the woman's hand. "Now, perhaps a cup of tea and I need to unpack. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to a cup of tea. There's only dreadful decaffeinated coffee in the Papal Palace."

The woman looked at him. "You're English then?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but I was educated just up the road from here."

She gawped. "You're …?"

"A wizard? Yes, in fact, first and foremost. That is actually why I'm here and not a prelate with a prejudice. Besides, I've been asked to fill in as DADA teacher for this year."

The woman nodded, everything becoming clear.

"I thought that Wizarding folk were anathema."

"Publicly, yes, but His Holiness is ever open to expediency."

.

He entered his private suite, comfortably furnished in the same style as his suite in the Vatican had been. He saw three travelling trunks, each bearing the papal seal above the lock.

After removing his cloak and divesting himself of the sword and other unnecessary paraphernalia, he opened the three multi-compartment trunks. Inside, he found books, presumably copied from the Tellic Library. There were files of information on the known death eaters of this time, information that could not have been known in Harry's original timeline.

He found clothing appropriate to his current profession as a Papal Envoy, and a detailed brief on his duties as well as the items that he would be expected to possess. There was also a richly bejewelled pectoral cross to wear in public in lieu of the Tellic amulet.

The third trunk was the most interesting, containing equipment and supplies for a complete potions laboratory, a substantial supply of potions, mostly for healing, but a few others including a large bottle with a dropper-top labelled _Sera Verita_.

He found a complete set of basilisk-skin armour, training weapons and a broomstick. This last was most unusual in being an American elite auror unit broom, designed for stealth, speed and combat. The documentation told him that it was a _Vulcan Broomstick Inc. Vampyre Venom (Govt. Special) Mk XIII_.

Harry quietly wondered just what his current masters thought he would be getting into, especially since the broom was a model not due to be developed for another seventeen years. He noticed that there was a flying helmet with the broomstick. He set it aside for the time.

Exploring his suite of rooms, he found a broomstick loft with an owlery attached, a moderately well equipped potions laboratory, a small magical gymnasium, a private study and library, bathroom, two bedrooms, a parlour and the comfortably-appointed reception room he had first entered.

Returning to the public part of the house, he found a dining room, a reception room, a small, private dining room, an office and the doorway into the kitchen.

He passed through this to find a young cleric sat at the kitchen table drinking a mug of tea with the housekeeper.

He rose and made the obeisance demanded by custom. Harry responded appropriately.

"Your Grace, I didn't expect to …"

"We will have less of this _Your Grace_ nonsense in private, please. Now, I wasn't aware that there was another occupant ...?"

"Forgive me. I am Father William. I am Curé of the See in the absence of any higher curate being in residence. Mrs Beltravois tells me that you know the area?"

Harry smiled, the scars on his left cheek puckering disturbingly. "Yes, I was educated just up the road, at Hogwarts."

The curate's eyes widened. "So the rumour is true, you are …"

"A member of the order of St Michael the Avenger? Yes, for my many sins."

"But yet you wear the robes of an abbot of the Tellic Order?"

Harry chuckled. "There is no conflict of interest here. The Tellic Scholars are not simply readers of ancient lore, they are accomplished Knights of the Cross, also. I trust that this clarifies matters for you?"

The Curé shook his head. "I never thought to serve before one of The Holy Father's elite, least of all after the fall of _The Anome Negrié_." [The Nameless Dark]

Harry smiled gently, an expression that calmed the heart of the young Curé.

"Sadly, it is His Holiness's opinion that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not gone, merely unseated. His Holiness has charged us to discover the truth. He has also passed the Decree of _Anathema Absolute _against the self‑styled _Dark Lord_ and his followers.

"It is the opinion of the Conclave of Cardinals that the man, if that be what he is, is either The Antichrist or his avatar. It is the will of The Conclave that he be prevented from ever achieving his ascendancy."

The young curate looked at Harry and murmured, "and you are the one sent to ensure … "

"… that he never does. Yes. Please understand that I am not alone, I am merely the left hand of The Church, the agency through which the light will act. As far as The Church at large is concerned, I don't exist."

And so saying, Harry sipped his tea and considered his actions over the next few years, uncertain whether he would be here or somewhere else in time or space. He wondered if, once his mission was accomplished, he would simply fade from existence, leaving his younger self to develop of himself. He would ask Albus some time.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Part Two: Annua Dursleii (The Dursley Years)**

-::::::::-

**Chapter 1: A Birthday Gift.**

.

Harry Potter was in his cupboard under the stairs. He had been locked in, once more because of _it_, doing what Vernon Dursley referred to as his freakishness.

What _The Freak_ didn't know was that it was his birthday, he didn't even know his own name. He knew, though, that he was hungry and he knew that it hurt to breathe. There was a grating sensation in his chest and it hurt where Uncle Vernon had beaten him.

There was a knock at the door, and he heard Aunt Petunia go to the door.

"Good morning. Mrs Petunia Dursley? I am Abée Johannus Kethrington. I am here in connection with your nephew, Harry Potter."

He heard his aunt splutter, torn between being rude to whoever it was and letting them in. Young Harry had no idea who this _Harry Potter_ might be.

Harry heard footsteps outside his cupboard, going through into the sterile front room of number four Privet Drive. A moment later and Petunia hauled Harry from his cupboard and pushed him into the front room.

"See what you've done now, Boy? You've brought the Church down on us!"

"Thank you Mrs Dursley. Now, I am instructed that I must speak with your nephew _in private_."

Once Petunia had left and closed the door, Harry knew that the dreadful woman would be listening at the outside. He surreptitiously cast a _muffliato resonia_ around the emaciated child and himself, letting Petunia hear the sounds of voices but never clearly enough to understand them.

Harry looked at his younger self.

"Good morning Harry, and Happy Birthday."

Harry handed the boy an envelope and a small package. The boy accepted them with a quiet _thank you_ but didn't attempt to open them.

Harry sat down. "Well, aren't you going to open them?"

Young Harry looked at him. "But worthless freaks like me aren't allowed birthdays or Christmas."

"Harry, you are neither worthless nor are you a freak. Do you even know what it is that they are referring to as _your freakishness_?"

The boy shook his head.

"Then I shall enlighten you. Tell you, that is. You have the ability to make things happen that defy the normal laws of nature. Now don't tell anyone, or The Walrus will beat you some more. He is deathly afraid of your talent.

"Now, how are your ribs feeling?"

The boy had tears in his eyes as he shook his head.

"Then let's fix them, shall we?"

Harry placed his hand over the broken ribs and said loudly, "Heal this child!" At the same time, he cast a silent healing charm, repairing the broken ribs, at the same time disabling some of the monitoring charms that Dumbledore had placed on the baby Harry.

"Now, your presents. Card first?"

Harry opened the card, smiling at the cartoon snake with psychedelic eyes holding a placard that read "Happy Birthday Harry". Inside was a simple birthday greeting addressed to Harry James Potter.

"Thank you sir."

"Come on, now your present."

The boy carefully took off the wrapping paper, folding it and placing it neatly on the table. He stared at the carved wooden box bearing the initials HJP.

"Open it, I want to see what's inside."

He opened the hinged lid carefully, finding inside a stick of wood and two books.

He held up the wand which emitted a small gush of red and gold stars, looking at the man with a question in his eye.

"It's called a wand. It will allow you to control your powers. You're not _supposed_ to use it until you're older, but just having it near will help. The books, well, you read them, follow the instructions carefully and do the exercises and you will have a head start. Keep them and your wand in the box, and no one will be able to steal them from you, and that's a promise."

"Um, I'm sorry sir, but who …?"

"Ah, My name is Johannus Kethrington and I knew your parents, if briefly. No matter what your Uncle and Aunt say, they were good people. They also worked for a branch of the police and were killed by terrorists. Now, my time is up and I must return to my own duties."

"Are you a policeman too?"

"No. I'm a kind of guardian angel. Goodbye Harry."

"Goodbye sir … will you be coming again?"

"I am certain of it."

"Now, Mrs Dursley, I note that the boy is severely undernourished, that he seems to live in an under-stairs cupboard, and that he doesn't actually possess any clothes that fit, even remotely. I wonder what is happening to the, let me see, nearly ten thousand pounds a year for the lad's keep? It is clearly not being spent on your nephew."

Petunia spluttered.

"Now, I need to take a look at the boy's proper bedroom, since there are only the four of you living here."

She pointed at the cupboard under the stairs.

"Not good enough. This will be going into my report on Harry's living conditions, and you had best understand that we will see an improvement. You have six weeks to ensure that Harry is properly fed, clothed and housed. I also require that you ensure that his belongings and that his person be held safe and secure.

"Do not for a moment believe that the church doesn't know your nephew's history, nor his heritage. He has been well catered for by his parents, and you have taken the money supplied from his trust fund to feather your own nest. Be warned that we will be recovering his funds if we do not see an improvement.

"Good day, Mrs Dursley, and I suggest you take the lad to the hospital and to the optician. And spend the money, else I shall be most upset."

This last was stated quite loudly outside the house before the door was slammed shut behind him.

Harry wandered over to see Mrs Figg.

.

"I am here concerning young Harry Potter."

"Oh dear, did Albus send you?"

"No, Arabella, The Vatican."

The elderly squib sat sharply.

"Have you told Mr Dumbledore the conditions under which Harry is being kept?"

She nodded. "He said that it was for the greater good that he stays there, and that he was better protected by his blood relatives."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Mrs Figg. Please do what you can for the boy, and if he turns up harmed, as he will, please floo me immediately. Ask for Abée Johannus Kethrington, I will come and heal the boy, or send someone who can. The other thing is that he is underfed."

Mrs Figg nodded. "I try to feed him when he comes over …"

"Then I will provide you with strengthening and other draughts to supplement his diet with. He is aware of his magic, and may ask questions. Please answer them circumspectly, he needs to learn despite Dumbledore's words to the contrary. The Mother Church has intelligence that you-know-who is gone but not for ever, and that when he returns, that will lead to the **final** conflict. Armageddon. Harry must be ready for this, as he will be in the front line of the war when it comes."

Mrs Figg paled at the word _Armageddon_. "Really the final war? I suddenly feel very old. I knew the boy's parents."

"I know. Did you know that he didn't actually know his own name? That he was beaten last night and given two broken ribs? That he was told that he's a worthless freak?"

Mrs Figg nodded. "That sounds about right. I used to have Professor McGonagall here to heal him when he was tiny, but Albus found out, so I have had to do what I can. I'm no good with magic, you know."

"Except for a major Animal Affinity and that you're an unregistered animagus?"

She looked shocked. "H-how … ?"

Harry smiled. "We have our methods, and your special magics may save your life one day. Now, I must leave. Remember, floo me if you need anything for Harry, and don't tell Dumbledore. Oh, yes …"

Harry pointed his wand at the squib's head, "_obscuro mens viae_. It's only an anti-legilimancy charm. It means that you can't pass on any information unwillingly, or unwittingly. You know that Dumbledore and Snape routinely use legilimancy, don't you?"

The elderly woman looked shocked.

"Shh! Don't tell a soul. Thank you for caring for Harry. Good bye."

He apparated away with merely a hiss of air in order to prepare for his classes at Hogwarts at the beginning of September.

.

-::::::::-

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**Chapter 2: Defence Against The Dark Arts**

.

September arrived and with it the commencement of the new year at Hogwarts.

Harry had prepared a fairly complete set of classes for the fourteen groups that he would be teaching over the year, encompassing the seven student years.

"And I take pleasure in introducing our new Defence teacher, Abée Kethrington, a man with a most unusual background who has agreed to spend this year teaching you."

Harry stood and nodded to each of the four house tables. His maroon robes were in sharp contrast to the black robes of most of the other professors.

.

There was an ear-splitting bang and the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins looked around nervously. Harry cast aside his disillusionment and started casting petrifying hexes at the class. Finally one of the Gryffindors managed to get his wand out and to cast a shield.

"At last! Someone remembers what a wand is for! Mind you, I could have killed or seriously injured …"

He counted, "… eleven of your class before _any_ of you reacted. This isn't good enough. Why do you all have your wands in your back pockets? Why did you take so long to react?"

Ha nervous hand rose.

"Yes?"

"Because we weren't expecting to be attacked in class?"

"So? Why not? What is the title of this class?"

"Umm … Defence Ag …"

"Exactly. _Defence_."

Harry cast the counter-hex on those who had been frozen in place.

"This term we will be concentrating on DEFENCE. You will be practising your spells, you will be learning teamwork, you will be writing homework and you will not be needing your assigned text in class, And more than this, you will be tested in every class…"

By the end of the class, every student understood that wands were carried ready to use, that a shield spell should be ready on their lips at all times, and that he may attack them at any time in class.

"And your name, Lad?"

"Kite, sir. James Kite."

"Well done Mr Kite, nine points to Gryffindor. It would have been more if you had been quicker."

Harry's first week and the rest of the year continued in much the same vein. He vowed that this particular generation of students would be as well equipped as he could make them.

.

The conversation in the Gryffindor common room that first evening was repeated in kind often that first week.

"What about that nutter in Defence?"

"I dunno, mate. I learned a lot today, even if I did get petrified. I mean, it made sense."

"What about all of those scars on his face?"

"And did you see his arms?"

"I heard that he's part of some elite auror force from Italy."

"But he's English."

"So? They probably just pick the best. Did'ja see the broom he arrived on?"

Several nods. "An' he was wearing a flight helmet like the muggle pilots do."

"How fast d'ja think he was he travelling. I know it's hard to breathe on a Nimbus 1700 at full pelt."

"I dunno, but it was faster than any racing broom I've seen. I bet it's a special auror issue broom … 'Ere, when'ave you ever been on a Nimbus 1700?"

"My cousin's got one. He let me have a ride."

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 3: Meeting Miss Granger and a Return to Privet Drive**

.

Harry visited Hermione on her birthday, armed with a package, an envelope and a portable ward-stone.

"Mrs Emma Granger? I am Abée Johannus Kethrington, and I am here to meet your daughter, Hermione. Is she in?"

Mrs Granger invited Harry in and bad him wait in the lounge. Harry reflected that there was very little change between now and when he saw the house destroyed by Death Eaters in a few short years.

Hermione arrived, looking nervous.

"Good evening, Hermione, and Happy Birthday."

She looked at him appraisingly. "You're not a regular priest, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm what's known as an Abbot Episcopal."

She curtsied.

"I'm sorry Your Grace, I didn't realise…"

"Hermione, I'm not here in a formal capacity, I'm travelling around to meet a number of exceptional students who I know will benefit from my visit in a few years time."

He let this sink in for a moment.

"Mrs Granger, tell me, has Hermione ever done anything … inexplicable?"

He could see the cogs turning and the memories appear.

"Exactly. Now, I am here to … prepare you and your daughter for something that will happen on her eleventh birthday. Now, do you believe in magic? Not stage conjurors, but real magic."

Hermione shook her head. "Not really … it doesn't make sense."

Emma Granger shook her head. "No. Magic is for children and fairy stories."

"Well, magic is real. It's rare and it's illogical, but it is very real. And you, Hermione, have the talent for it. Don't believe me? Look …"

Harry pointed his wand at the table and transformed it into a Shetland Pony, and quickly back.

"Was that real or an illusion?"

"It was real. Want to meet the pony again?"

She nodded and walked over to the table as Harry transfigured it again. Hermione petted it and it nuzzled her hand. She felt it's hot, wet breath and smelt its horse odour.

"It's real! Oh!"

And she was standing by a table once more.

"Now, because of the law in Britain, you are not supposed to be aware of magic, but _we_ have become aware of … a destiny, if you like. And you, Hermione, need to be aware of the magical world before you would otherwise be told. Now, Happy Birthday …"

Harry handed the girl the envelope and the package. She opened both sedately, smiling at the magically animated card showing herself blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. She was amazed.

"Thank you …"

"Now the package?"

She opened the present, finding a wooden box identical to young Harry's, but bearing the initials HJG. Inside were three books and a wand.

She took out the wand and the room was filled with warm breezes, golden light and the smell of tropical flowers.

"Oh my!"

"Your wand. You will still need to buy one from Mr Ollivander when you are eleven, but this one will serve you well. Keep it hidden from prying eyes, and read the books, and let your mother read them too. Follow the instructions in the books carefully and practice the exercises and you will have a good head start.

"Oh, and remember to keep the books and your wand in the box, that way no one will be able to steal them, and that's a promise. Now, this is called a ward-stone. It will prevent anyone detecting your magic within about a twenty-yard radius, since you're not really supposed to perform magic yet. It's all in the books.

"Now, my time is up, and I must return to my other duties. Goodbye Hermione, Mrs Granger."

"Thank you sir …"

Harry never heard the rest because he had apparated with a hiss of air leaving the two Granger women thunderstruck.

Within ten minutes, Hermione and her mother had their noses firmly inserted in two of the books. Hermione was reading a magical primer and Emma was reading the introductory text on magical law, both accompanied by the comforting presence of cups of tea.

Hermione wandered outside and came in a minute later with a short length of garden cane with which she practised her wand movements.

.

While Hermione was practising her wand movements, Harry was visiting Privet Drive. This time Vernon answered the door.

"Mr Dursley, I am here on the matter of Mr Harry Potter, your nephew."

"Get out of my house, freak!"

He never got any further. Harry had petrified Vernon in place. A small charm later and Vernon was inviting Harry in. He noticed that his young self was still living in the cupboard under the stairs.

"I instructed you to improve the state of Harry's living arrangements, Mr Dursley. You are paid a small fortune to care for the boy, and you treat him worse than a dog. Now, bring him out of his prison."

"Who are you to …"

Harry's voice dropped to a quiet growl. "I am Abée Johannus Kethrington, Abbot Episcopal and Papal Envoy. Unless you wish me to perform _Extreme Unction_ upon you in Great Whinging Catholic Church this evening, you will obey."

"I'm not afraid of you! I'm Church of England!"

Harry smiled, his scars creasing menacingly. "And are you afraid of the social stigma of having reached the notice of the Papal Envoy? You are, I can see it in your eyes. I'd remind you that the Managing Director and the Marketing Director at Grunnings attend that church regularly."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes, and quite effectively, too. Get Harry. While you do that, you will consider what the loss of ten thousand pounds per annum from your income will do for your nest-egg, especially as we will be taking action to recover all previous moneys paid to date."

The Walrus paled and then turned purple.

"Now, now, Mr Dursley, we don't want you having that coronary that you've earned with so much effort."

"You're not even a real … you're a freak!"

"Oh, I quite assure you, I am a real Abée with real Letters Patent and a very real job to do working with especially gifted children. Now, do as I say or you will find yourself quite destitute."

Harry was brought out from his cupboard.

"Abée!"

He ran to hug his elder self.

"How are you Harry? I can see that the walrus and the giraffoid haven't improved. What about the pig-in-a-wig?"

"I was beaten after you left. Uncle Vernon tried to take my birthday present, but it bit him."

"Do you hurt now?"

The boy nodded.

"Oh Lord, Heal this child!"

And the usual healing charms fixed the outstanding damage, including a fractured wrist and shoulder.

"Dursley, get yourself, your wife and that useless whale of a boy of yours in here. Now."

The trio arrived.

"I will tell you this once only. You will give Harry a proper room, furnished with proper bedroom furniture, _new_ furniture. You will take him shopping for new clothes, you will feed him properly and you will cease beating him. You will also cease trying to take his belongings.

"Failure to comply will be rewarded by your public ex-communication, which will do your standing in society no good at all, you will be forced to repay all moneys paid to you for this child's keep and you will thence be taken into papal custody to stand trial before the Conclave of Cardinals. You have seven days to comply. Let me see the room the boy will be given."

A pale and shaking Petunia took the Abée up and showed him the smallest bedroom, Dudley's junk room.

"Unacceptable," was Harry's whole response. "Who uses this one?"

"That's the guest room. Vernon's aunt uses it when she visits."

"The foul woman with the bull-terrier fixation? Use the smallest room for her."

"But what about Dudders?"

"He has his own room, has he not? One room's enough for any boy. Let me remind you that the protections given your family by your sister's death specified that Harry must call this home, and he must be raised in a loving environment for the blood wards to protect you and he alike. At the moment those protections are worth nothing. And believe me, there are plenty of people looking for young Harry who won't care a fig for killing you as a pleasant entrée to killing the boy.

"Be warned that Harry is not only under magical protection but is under the protection of the Mother Church, and The Vatican is a force to be not discounted. Now, get your useless husband and corpulent son up here, this room will be cleared of all the worthless junk, and Harry will be moved up here tonight, while I watch."

.

An hour later, Harry had moved his paucity of property into the spare bedroom and the elder Harry had surreptitiously cast a number of security charms on windows and door. No one would enter the room uninvited and the Dursleys never at all.

"Now, Harry, your relations are unable to enter your room, so I want you to be a good boy and keep it as spotless as you can. You will need to take down your dirty laundry and bring up the clean, you will need to make your own bed, decorate if it needs doing, and to vacuum and dust it yourself. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Now, I have brought you a few things for your room …"

Harry handed the boy a small package which he un-shrank. It contained a selection of clothes, some more books, information on getting himself a library ticket, some muggle money and writing materials. Happily, there was a dressing table in the rather horrid fitted furniture that Harry could use as a desk, the cupboard alongside being suitable for use as bookshelves.

"Oh, and there's a little charm that I know for keeping dangerous dogs at bay. You won't need your wand, but you will need to look it in the eye …"

Young Harry learned the cantrip very quickly.

"Now, Dursley, remember what I said. There is no harm in getting _both_ boys doing chores, and that includes learning how to cook. You will get him proper clothes, rather than the rat-bag stuff he currently has, he will be fed properly, and why hasn't he got any glasses from the optician? I see you just picked up a pair from the charity shop. And he's to never have his hair cut.

"Oh, and one other thing … he is to be praised for doing well at school. he is actually a quiet, polite boy, and your continued badmouthing him will result in the penalties I mentioned earlier. I will return, you may be certain."

He quickly cast the anti-legilimancy charm over all four of the occupants of the house, knowing that as the caster, it would not keep him out of their minds.

He left the house, found a quiet alley and returned to Scotland. At his next visit, he saw that things _had_ improved for the boy, and young Harry was doing well at school.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 4: Christmas 1985 **

.

Harry sent gifts of books and writing materials to both his young self and to Hermione. Having spent the Christmas holiday officiating and attending the various churches in his See, he relaxed on Boxing day by walking the hills above Hogwarts.

The following day he went to visit his young charges.

At Privet Drive, Harry received an enthusiastic greeting form his younger self. Young Harry had used the dog-repelling charm to good purpose. Aunt Marge had been mortally offended at being given the smallest room. She had tried to waltz into Harry's room, and had simply bounced off the wards preventing uninvited entry.

"So, why is The Vatican interested in the useless offspring of a pair of work-shy alcoholics?"

"Actually, Harry's parents were with the Special Services. They were betrayed and died in a revenge attack on Halloween just after Harry's first birthday. As far as I know, neither of them drank after they had completed their training.

"And The Vatican is interested in Harry because he is a particularly gifted young man, and I made a promise to ensure that he was well looked after. Sadly, I was unable to do so until recently because of my … situation."

"Isn't it unusual for priests to wear their hair long or to wear a beard?"

Harry smiled. "My order never cut our hair as it is one of God's gifts to us, and my beard covers a multitude of scars. Children and old ladies find my clean-shaven countenance frightening, especially as I would invariably cut myself rather badly when shaving."

"Pardon me, Abée?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How did you get those scars?"

Harry smiled gently, the beatific expression sitting strangely on his marred features.

"I fought in a war against a madman. And before you ask, it was before I took Holy Orders, and I was attempting to save people from the evil lunatic. I was injured a number of times. But you have a war-wound, yourself."

Harry indicated the scar on his younger self's forehead, his own copy having faded and been replaced by a large burn some years since.

"I have?"

"Yes, that was done the night your parents died defending you."

Harry gave a number of gifts to the family. Aunt Marge received a giant dog chew, Petunia received a book on business entertaining, Vernon was given a bottle of single malt whiskey from the Haughsdale distillery, Dudley accepted a book on fitness training almost graciously, and Harry took delivery of a small trunk which he was told to open only in his room. It was a fairly complete introductory potions kit with several potions primers and an instruction to only do what he was instructed to do in the text books.

"I thought you people were against drinking," was Vernon's cheerful thanks.

"Only when to excess and only for ourselves. _Take a little wine for thy stomach's sake, sayeth The Lord_."

Vernon grinned. "I'll drink to that. Your good health, Abée."

Harry quickly scanned the young boy's thoughts, and found that the Dursleys had genuinely reached an accommodation with the presence of a nascent wizard in the house. He also found that Dumbledore had visited, but had left quickly when he was satisfied that Harry was being properly looked after.

.

The next visit was to the Grangers. Here was less concern and more merriment.

"Abée Johannus, welcome and Merry Christmas. Come on in. Can we offer you a drink at all?"

"I would accept a glass of fizzy water to be sociable, thanks. I came to wish you all a merry Christmas, and to bring a larger gift for Hermione. I see that your studies go apace."

"How can you tell?"

"You look as though you have run out of books to read."

The Grangers laughed. "You know our daughter too well. She devoured the texts you already gave her, and has already completed the exercises."

Harry presented her with a small chest.

"The contents of this chest take up a lot of space if unpacked completely. It is an introductory potions laboratory along with a range of texts. I need not warn you that you must follow the instructions with great care, even when they seem illogical. Whilst there is little risk of harm or damage in this kit, I assure you that it is not a toy. Most of the potions that you can make are actually useful if made correctly.

"Now, Mr Granger and Mrs Granger …"

He handed them two bottles, knowing what they both drank. They were impressed.

"How …?"

"We have our ways of gathering information," Harry said, tapping the side of his nose. "I asked at the off‑licence."

After fielding an hour of questions from both family and young witch, Harry cast his anti-legilimancy charm over the three of them.

"This is a simple spell that will prevent anyone discovering that any of you are actually aware of the magical world. The results _could_ be unfortunate."

And so saying, he bid them a Merry Christmas once more, and disapparated with a quiet hiss.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 5: Dream-time**

.

The hardest part of Harry's task was the day-to-day guidance of his young charges. He had already managed to ascertain from Dumbledore's spirit that Molly Weasley was behind the use of Amortentia on both himself and Hermione all of those years past. Now, he needed to ensure that it didn't happen again.

Dumbledore suggested that Sibyl Trelawney may be the most appropriate target for a prophetic dream, the woman being both slightly unhinged and a genuine if erratic seer.

.

The text that they agreed on was:

_The return of the Dark Lord shall be heralded in the eleventh year of his conqueror. He who hath defeated once shall rise triumphant thrice more. Those of the light should not trust the children of the flame toward the warrior of the light nor with his consort. Emerald shall look unto amber and amber unto emerald that the shadow shall be dispelled. Flame and the offspring of flame shall be the weasel that ravages hope. Fate shall favour true love only if the flames' ardour is quenched._

.

Harry, using a pensieve and a video camera, recorded a range of images of his encounters while he was at school. A cutting-edge computer and the latest in video-editing software allowed him to put together a rough and ready video sequence to use as background for the recurring, prophetic dream that Sibyl Trelawney would be having on occasion for years to come. The process was to take several months, the technology being so incredibly slow. Harry didn't wonder that the push for faster technology was so high. Happily, he didn't need large, high quality images for what he wanted.

When it was complete Harry watched the final cut with his voice-over, and extracted the memory into a pensieve. He then watched the memory of the video, over and over until it was burned into his mind.

Blackness. The sounds of battle. Voice over with slight chorus effect, echo-reverb.

Entire sequence in slightly soft focus, grade to black at edges of frame.

**Fade to:** An image of Voldemort rising from the burst cauldron in the graveyard, background of flames.  
"_The return of the Dark Lord shall be heralded in the eleventh year of his conqueror."_

**Fade to:** The dark lord on Quirrell's head, then going to his death._  
"He who hath defeated once shall rise triumphant thrice more_."

[Pause to end of sequence]

**Fade to:** Tom Riddle and the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets;  
Harry killing the basilisk and then Tom Riddle (hiding the method)

**Fade to:** The defeat of Voldemort in front of Hogwarts' main doors.

**Fade to:** Black.

**Fade to:** Flames, then to:  
Harry & Hermione together; Ron and Ginny looking on enviously, Molly behind, the same.  
"_Those of the light should not trust the children of the flame toward the warrior of the light nor with his consort."_

**Fade to:** Harry and Hermione gazing into each others' eyes, golden halos both heads (this took a lot of editing.)  
"_Emerald shall look unto amber and amber unto emerald that the shadow shall be dispelled."_

**Cut to: ** Black.

**Fade to:** The Weasleys watching, smiling, as the Army of Light falls one by one.  
(Image sequence, fast fade between clips, about 0.5 second per death)  
"_Flame and the offspring of flame shall be the weasel that ravages hope."_

Fade to: Sequence of Weasley's tipping Amortentia into drinks given to Harry and Hermione.  
"_Fate shall favour true love only if the flames' ardour is quenched._"

[Pause to end of sequence]

**Flicker to:** Hermione's death, Harry's death (Harry's face spliced onto Neville's body)  
[Flickering of lightning to cover shaky editing]

**Fade to:** Black

.

That night, Sibyl Trelawney had her second prophesy come to her in a dream. She woke shaking and afraid. She rushed to inform Albus Dumbledore who was rather dumbfounded, if a trifle pleased.

Albus's spirit, acting as Harry's eye reported that Dumbledore had been shaken to his roots at the prophesy, actually laughing about his former self's attitude.

At the same time, Harry put together a series of gentle prophesies for young Harry and Hermione, gently steering them away from Ginny and Ron, towards Neville and Luna and definitely toward Gryffindor.

Harry also decided to try to save Malfoy from taking the plunge into darkness by feeding him a steady series of nightmares about the dark lord, the dark mark, Slytherin and his own death. To counter this he was given images of comradeship in Ravenclaw, friendships and hope with the light.

Only time would tell if Malfoy was salvageable even now.

.

To Luna, he gave positive images of Harry, Hermione, Neville and Gryffindor. To Ron and Ginny, he gave Gryffindor nightmares and Hufflepuff happiness.

To Molly Weasley, he gave nightmares of the Dementors' kiss and Amortentia. He knew that he was steering a tight course between her shaking the dreams off and ending up in a mental ward at St. Mungo's. He knew, because they were his own nightmares, seeing her kissed by the Dementors at the Battle of Potter's End.

To Percy Weasley, Harry gave some special treatment, showing him what an insufferable fool he would become, and the benefits of tempering his ambition with consideration. Harry remembered all too well the day Percy took the Dark Mark because he was too ambitious to bring his moral compass to bear.

Finally, he gave fear-inducing dreams to the Dursleys, making them fearful of harming their young charge. He rewarded them, though, with happier images of Harry learning quietly in his room and not causing magical havoc in public. Dudley, in particular, found himself fearful of what his cousin could do to him, and incidentally what he was doing to himself by his constant eating.

Soon enough, Dudley's weight would begin to drop toward him being merely fat, rather than the shapeless whale he had become. He would also find that the competition to keep up with Harry would be enough to encourage him to study and learn, and eventually to excel.

Albus continued to report back to harry the visible effects of the dreams that he was delivering, telling Harry that the changes, though slight, were bringing about the best of results. Albus, because he was not firmly fixed in the present was able to report on the changes as they broadly appeared in the future.

.

As the academic year reached the Spring Holiday, Easter, Harry was concerned that his continued physical presence might not be possible for his two most important charges. To counteract this, he obtained a range of texts and materials, and arranged for them to be delivered at intervals over the next few years.

At Easter, however, he arranged for the Grangers and the Dursleys (including young Harry) to attend an Easter celebration at Greater Whinging Catholic Church. Of course, this meant that Harry and Hermione met so much earlier than in his past life. He took the trouble to introduce them, and he could see the immediate chemistry between them, and wondered how he had missed it in his own life. Of course, they recognised each other from their dreams.

He took the two aside and told them that they were both magical, and started them on the study of Occlumancy and Legilimancy.

"Once you start school in the magical world, you will need all of the mental resources that you can gather.

"Occlumancy doesn't only protect your mind from intrusion by others, the process of shielding your thoughts also helps you organise your thought processes, your memories and your mind. You will learn more easily.

"Legilimancy, the reading of minds, is a valuable skill. You must promise that you won't go delving in other peoples' minds without good reason, though."

They both promised, and Harry knew that they would keep their word.

.

"Excuse me, Abée?"

"Yes, Dudley, isn't it?"

The boy flushed that Harry had remembered his name.

"I just wanted to thank you again for your gift. It really has changed my life. Harry and I are both doing fitness training and karate … and, well, he may still be a bit freaky, well, he's a good mate and he's helping me at school and all.

"Well, it's just that … umm …"

"You want me to do something for you?"

The boy nodded uncertainly.

"Um, yes, if you would … it's just that, well, I don't want to go to Smeltings like my dad."

"And have you told him?"

"Um … yes. He went ballistic."

.

"Mr Dursley? You are a Smeltings alumnus, are you not?"

"Well, yes, what business …? … oh."

"Well, it's just that I have heard things about the school, and I was sure you'd otherwise be keen for Dudley to follow in your footsteps."

"Heard things?"

Harry nodded. "Nothing terrible or … concrete. Just suggestions. Falling standards … the old school tie no longer being sufficient. I'm sure you know the kind of thing. And of course, the trend toward, not to put too fine a point, the demand for better qualifications in the employment market.

"I may be able to put in a word at Woking Collegium Grammaticae for him. Harry, of course, has arrangements already made for him."

"Oh, enough said, that would be excellent, I hadn't even hoped to get Dudley in there. I hate to say it but you have done us a lot of good. Dudley no longer hangs around with those two goons of his. He and Harry are more like brothers, and Harry's not doing anything to, um, freak anyone out anymore. In fact you'd hardly know he was … different. He even helps Dudley with his homework. Never sure who gets the better marks now, they're both top of the class in most things."

"What aren't they excelling at then?"

"Music and art. Not terribly useful stuff, but it would be nice if Dudley would get _everything_ squared away. I know Harry's not going to care much about either."

"Well, try them both on something like a calligraphy course or a technical drawing course. See if they can do that kind of art stuff. And I can see Dudley playing something expressive like flute, or try him with a violin or even twelve-stringed guitar."

The walrus flapped his jaw a bit as though chewing the ideas.

"… Really? Something expressive? Are you suggesting that my boy's a bit … you know?"

"Not at all. I just think he would get on with making those instruments talk. I mean, think of James Galway with his flute or Zamphir with his Pan-Pipes, or even Menuen and his violin."

Harry saw the dollar-signs appear in Dursley's eyes and knew that Walrus Man was sold on the idea.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Chapter 6: The Summer of '86**

.

The Abée concluded his year teaching Defence at Hogwarts with the highest pass marks in fifty years. Not one of his OWLs or NEWTs students achieved less than an A, and many were rewarded with E and O grades. The other years' classes were just as successful, all giving a good showing on their internal examinations.

Harry received a letter from the Vatican informing him that a second year at the school would be acceptable if it were offered.

.

In celebration of this, Harry supplied his two young charges with an additional kit, this time being introductory alchemy, a subject not taught at Hogwarts in 400 years.

.

He spent much of the summer, though, in his own studies. He first had a small task to perform within Hogwarts. Entering the Chamber of Secrets whilst carrying a cage of roosters, he called forth the basilisk and set the roosters loose. When they began to crow, the basilisk was slain. Cleanly, safely and, more than anything, without having to raise Tom Riddle.

He set to, harvesting the Basilisk for potions ingredients and for other materials. Nothing was left, not even the sloughs in the outer chamber.

Entering the tunnels behind the statue, Harry plundered Salazar Slytherin's private study, taking library, notebooks and anything that may be of use. He also found a number of notebooks belonging to Tom Riddle himself as well as to Horace Slughorn, not least of which was a comprehensive treatise of immortality magic. The touchstone that would allow Harry to destroy Voldemort turned out to be notes on an extension to the protean charm, the one that Riddle had based his Dark Mark upon.

Harry also entered the Room of Hidden Things, taking amongst other items an advanced potions book (courtesy of _The Half-Blood Prince_), Ravenclaw's diadem and the vanishing cabinet.

Harry was, in fact, well on the way to discovering a way of neutralising Tom Riddle's link to his Death Eaters.

Harry cast text-copying charms on the books that he had found in Slytherin's chamber, and sent the shrunken copies to the Tellic Library. He also sent his end of year reports to Frére Bernard who, Harry had been told, was aware of his cross-time activities.

.

Harry took the time to visit Luna in her dreams. He didn't hide his identity, knowing that the strange little girl he had met at school would take the direct approach rather better than prophetic dreams.

"Hi … who're you?"

"Abée Johannus Kethrington, which will mean nothing to you right now. I teach defence at Hogwarts."

"Oh. Why are you visiting me then?"

"To warn you that you need to start studying. You will need occlumancy and possibly legilimancy. I also want you to learn the proper wand movements for casting spells."

"But I'm not allowed a wand yet … ?"

Harry smiled. "Then use a quill or a straight twig … or make your own wand."

He saw her smile.

"Oh, and look after your mother. You might like to help her with her research and with her potions brewing. Learn as much as you can from her, Luna."

.

He visited Neville with dreams about wands and success. He knew that Neville would need a proper wand, and he had the wand Neville would need.

.

During August, Harry arranged for his two protégés to travel up to Haughsdale, in the care of Hermione's parents, so that they could spend a fortnight undergoing some intensive tutoring and get to know each other.

.

"Abée Johannus! Wow, what a beautiful house!"

"Hello Hermione, yes it is. Come on in all four of you and we'll get you settled in."

During the fortnight Harry tested the pair's progress in occlumancy, allowed them to practice their legilimancy with each other and gave them their first flying lessons.

Happily, Hermione was not yet old enough to have developed her sense of fear at the thought of flying, and Harry hoped that she would be confident enough by the time her Hogwarts letter arrived to never gain that fear.

Given his budget, he gifted them each a broom, a multi-compartment trunk in which to keep all of their magical study materials, and further texts and materials.

In the woods above the village, he taught them defensive and offensive spells, duelling and stealth charms. In his manse, he taught them potions, alchemy, history and transfiguration. Once more, he found himself wondering why magical education only began at eleven, since these two seemed to have developed more than enough control over their magic to be eminently teachable.

The assignments they were given to take home included arithmancy, runes and esoteric studies, this last including ritual magic and religious structure.

"Abée? What is _religious structure_?"

Young Harry was nodding.

"It's a bad title, but it describes the way religious belief works in the human psyche. Most of wizard-kind are fairly free of structured religious beliefs, but they replace organised religion with a kind of nebulous spirituality. The aspects of that spirituality have common points with the more organised religious beliefs."

The two faces seemed to beg for more.

"Common aspects such as good and evil, a higher power which is both wise and ancient, codes of morality regarding such things as marriage, family, honesty in dealings with others and so on. Even the concept of sin exists outside of religion. Finally, there is belief in an afterlife of some sort."

The two children were nodding in agreement and understanding.

.

Harry was frazzled to a crisp by the time his two charges had headed home on the train. Although he had been willing to portkey them home, the Grangers had insisted that the train journey would allow them to enjoy the Scottish scenery in comfort.

.

A trip south brought both Neville and Luna visits from the Abée.

"Abée Kethrington?"

"Hello Luna. I have a gift for you."

He handed Luna a decorated box containing some magical primers and a wand. On the lid were the initials LXL, for Luna Xanthoria Lovegood.

She took out the wand and filled the room with pink glitter and orchid scents.

"You're not supposed to use it, but keep it close to you, it will help. It doesn't have a trace on it, so a few small spells will go unnoticed. Keep your books and your wand in the box and no one will be able to steal them. Now, I need to speak with your mother."

Maia Lovegood entered the room.

"Did I hear you right? Luna has a wand?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, there are a few gifted children I have to see, to get them started a little early on their magical development. The Vatican believes that the Dark Lord will rise again, and it its my place to fore warn and to fore arm those who are prophesied to have pivotal places in the forthcoming war."

"And my Luna …?"

"Yes, Luna will be most important to the Chosen One. As a seeress, her visions will be vital to the light. And you, Maia Lovegood, I have a gift for you too. Wear it always. It is a permanent emergency portkey that will bring you immediately to a safe house in Scotland. Just touch it with your finger and want to depart. It is rather a special one …"

"Special?"

"Yes, it is designed for research witches and wizards. It will not bring your clothes or anything in contact with you to the Manse, but the arrival point is actually a small bathroom and dressing room with a range of muggle and magical clothing. Believe me, this could save your life."

"Abée, you know something? A prophesy?"

Harry nodded. "In two or three years time. When Luna is eight."

.

His next visit was Longbottom Manor. Augusta Longbottom was as strident and intolerant a woman as Harry remembered.

"Madam Longbottom, I am here about your grandson."

"What kind of wizard are you? Those hardly resemble wizarding robes?"

Harry smiled. "I'm a member of an elite auror force based in Rome. I knew Frank and Alice somewhat. We met occasionally in the line of duty."

She looked at Harry, seeing the scars and seeing a battle-hardened auror, she relented somewhat.

"Very well, now why?"

"My masters are aware of a prophesy, a prophesy that states that the Dark Lord will return. That same prophesy states that Neville will play a pivotal role in the conflict. It is my task to ensure that those who need to be prepared start their training early. Nothing too strenuous or illegal, merely awareness … and a proximity to a properly matched wand."

"But Neville's almost a squib. We thought he was until recently."

"Let's see shall we? Neville, take this wand …"

He did and was rewarded by a fountain of strong blue sparks and the rich, peaty smell of deep forests. Augusta Longbottom let out a squeak.

Inside the carven box marked NTL, Neville Terrence Longbottom, Neville found some magical primers and texts on herbology.

Keep your wand and your books in the box, and no one will be able to steal them. Practising a few small spells will likely go unnoticed by the Ministry of Magic, since there's no trace on that wand.

.

The year flew past with the Abée continuing to reinforce the dream messages sent to the various recipients, with defence classes at Hogwarts, visits to his charges and, not the least, with his episcopal duties. By the summer, he was ready to teach the four youngsters for a full month.

"Abée?"

"Yes, Luna?"

"Why are we four being taught magic ahead of time?"

Kethrington smiled. "There is a prophesy that states, quite simply, that Lord Voldemort is not, in fact, dead. The Vatican is convinced that he is … dormant. We are agreed that he will return, that you four will be pivotal in his defeat, and that should he survive then The Final Trump shall sound, and The Final Battle will be fought.

"In short, without preparation, Armageddon will come to pass in our lifetimes and Darkness _will_ fall upon all of creation. Or, at least, our little corner of creation."

There was a noise from Hermione's throat.

"And, even if you disbelieve it, Hermione, what is the worst consequence of you four learning your magic early?"

She giggled, a sound the older Harry had rarely heard from his friend.

"I guess, the worst would be that we get to be further advanced than any of the other students?"

"Exactly. And so, no matter what, we come out ahead of the game, so to speak. I, for one, would have appreciated the extra tuition at your age. I remember how difficult it was for me to catch up, having been muggle raised, after all."

.

The following year, Harry, or rather, the Abée Kethrington was not invited to continue teaching defence at Hogwarts, although he did continue to live at Old Bishop's Mews, and he did continue to provide tuition and support to his four students.

.

.


	7. Potter's Island

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 7 - Potter's Island**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

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**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 7 - Potter's Island**

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Candra, on Portkey, posed a challenge for Harper's Island to be reinterpreted as a Harry Potter tale.

This was my take on the answer to the challenge. maybe, one day, I'll continue it, but in the meantime, here are the first and part of the second episodes.

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**The Challenge**

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Candra [_Oct 13 2009_]:

Currently, Harpers Island is running in Germany. Yes, I've been spoiled (accidently) and I hate the ending. So I thought: Hey, it would be great to change this. So I came up with the idea of this challenge: Harper's island Harry Potter style.

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You don't really have to know the show to be able to do the challenge, because everything you need to know is said in a few sentences. In the show Henry Dunham is getting married and he and his bride invite their guests to spend the week before the wedding in a hotel on an island. One of the guests is Henry's childhood friend Abby Mills. There is a serial killer on the island who kills many wedding guests (I won't tell you who it is because I know here are other Germans and maybe one of them is watching the series, too and doesn't want to be spoiled).

So, here is my request: Harry is getting married (you choose the bride) and he and his bride invite all of their friends and relatives to spend the wedding week on an island. Of course Hermione - Harry's best friend - is invited, too. And there is a serial killer who kills of several guests.

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I leave it to you who the killer is and why he/she does it, as long as you give us a plausible motive in the end. I have only two requests:

1. Neither Harry nor Hermione are killer or victim

2. Harry and Hermione end up together (I don't care if you kill the bride, let her be the murderer or let her and Harry simply break up, just get rid of her, okay)

.

If you don't have the heart to kill people you like that's fine. Kill the Dursleys or characters we don't know much about like Terrry Boot or Susan Bones (you could make them friends or relatives of the bride). Whoever you want, as long as you stay away from Harry and Hermione. You don't have to kill 10 people in each chapter, I only want a good crime story combined with a lot of Harry/Hermione love.

You'd have to find a reason why no one can leave the island, because if they could they'd all be gone after the first murder. In the show it takes a while until the first bodies are found and after that the bride's niece gets kidnapped and the murderer threatens to kill her in case anybody leaves. But you can use another reason like an anti-apparation charm and no connection to the floo-network on the island.

I hope someone takes this, because I'm really bad at writing crime stories although I love reading them.

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**Episode 1: The Cliff of Damned Souls**

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**A figure sat upon a lonely throne, looking out across a magical floor inlaid with a double-pentagram. At the centre was the symbol of his order. a stylised human hand. A black-gloved left hand cupped a chin that was lost in the shadow of the cowl that hid the figure's features.**

**The figure spoke, as though addressing a multitude, an audience unseen.**

**"It is a strange fact that the universe opens to us like the unfolding of a story. Each cycle of creation contains within it a myriad of lesser tales, cycles of being that reflect the greater cycle, and in each are the tales of individuals told.**

**"Like the great mythologies, these moral stories are repeated endlessly until their lesson is learned.**

**"Occasionally, the greater tale will impinge upon those beings within the innermost narrative, and at that instant, the world may change, and the nature of creation be altered irrevocably and forever.**

**"Such a change took place … well, the people of those times in that place called it 'The Breaking of All Calendars'. We call it The Great Nexus …"**

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_Somewhere on an uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean, a group of five men stood around a hole they had dug. With reverence and regret and, perhaps, a little love, they laid a hunched figure in the grave. A simple burial for a simple individual._

_The figure was curled around a small wooden casket containing the embalmed remains of a human hand._

_The five men worked steadily to fill in the grave. They were drawn to this unknowably remote place by a common bond of adversity. That bond which tied them to the figure in the unmarked grave._

_They carried a badge of their bond, a mark of their comradeship. A sign, unremarkable after the war, but one that would be remarked by any person seeing them together._

_A wand was drawn and a black slab of the local volcanic rock was transfigured. A symbol, the outline of a human hand, a left hand, was etched deeply into the glassy surface._

_"It is time…"_

_Five nods, and five figures departed, leaving the island for positively the final time._

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The red, glowing eyes regarded the map of the demesne. The eyes looked to the servant.

"You have done well, Koblitz. They have all agreed?"

"Yes Oh Dark One. All will be in place when you are ready to move."

"And the latest traitor?"

Koblitz indicated a crate. A wand gesture vanished the timber, revealing a wild eyed woman attached to a black monolith by magical shackles. She was missing her left hand.

"Ahh, my dear traitor. Have you no words for me now? Your lover?"

"Fate will not treat with you, but will be your undoing forever."

"Such tenderness, such love! Where are your gentle words now, My dear?"

The bound woman spat at the red-eyed figure.

"Very well. _Crucis ac aeternum._"

The bound woman started writhing, the cries of anguish echoing around the room, her eyes leaking tears of blood. A series of popping noises indicated the bones of the victim had started to break under the strain of the torture.

A long, bubbling sigh, and the figure was beyond all pain and grief, the tattoo on her wrist now blood red instead of the pale gold it had previously shown.

"Such a pity that they last so poorly. Onward and ever onward, I suppose."

Koblitz wondered, not for the first time, what the traitors meant when they referred to Fate. He also wondered if the zealots were truly as weak as they seemed when they died so easily.

.

"Igor!"

"Yes mistress?"

"Is everything … ready for my guests?"

The creature nodded and bowed. "Yes Mistress, everything is in place as you instructed."

"Good. You may go!"

"Thank you, Mistress."

Ginny Weasley turned sharply. How she detested these unnatural elves. They were identical to each other and, for some unfathomable reason, were all called Igor, even the females. There was never any knowing if you spoke to the same one twice. And those tattered ears were a nightmare!

On top of that, their hands were all wrong with too many joints to each claw-tipped finger.

At least, she thought, they don't speak badly, and aren't wilful like some elfs she could think of.

They were actually quite efficient, but too ugly for words, even by house-elf standards. And they were biddable. She liked biddable.

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"Are you comfortable, Severus?"

"As comfortable as I can ever be. The Vortex provides sufficient ambient magic to maintain my continued existence."

"I have to say, you don't look as bad as you did when I brought you here, and you certainly don't …"

"Smell as bad? Be thankful for small mercies. Whilst I have no recollections, I do look forward to going back to … beyond."

"If all goes well, I will see to it myself. And that you get a … decent burial this time."

"Thank you. And if it goes ill?"

"Then someone else will."

"I hadn't realised how serious this was."

"Obviously."

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The chartered ferry entered the sapphire bay at midday on the day of the fourteenth of December 2012. Cutting easily through the slight swell that characterised the reef-protected waters close to the island, the small ship made it's way into port. The skipper wondered if port was the right word, into harbour was just as bad.

The wizarding crew knew of this island, and it had a bad reputation, though the current owner seemed more personable than most were reputed to have been.

The boat moored at the small jetty in the bay that passed as the harbour for the island. It was met by one man. One man with messy black hair, a deep olive tan and startling green eyes.

The thirty-odd guests debarked and their luggage was piled on the jetty.

"Welcome to Potter's Island everybody. If you care to come this way, we'll head on up to the house. It's about another hour's journey from here. Don't worry about your luggage as the staff will take care of it for you."

"Staff? I don't see anybody."

Harry knew it had to be one of the muggleborn, only they would forget about the unseen servants of the wizarding world.

"Yes, we have a staff of Igors on the island."

"Igors?"

"Yes we have a team of house elves, but you'll understand when you meet them."

The party were led to a rock-built cabin hidden among the trees above the beach. After being given the opportunity to freshen up and to take lunch in the magically expanded interior, their host led them further into the jungle interior of the island.

They followed a well-maintained track that passed under the dense canopy of palm and banyan, between oleander and hibiscus. After a few minutes, they were walking along a wooden-decked path supported above the waters of a swamp until they came to a stretch of open water. Here a large raft-like boat was waiting for them.

"Please climb aboard. This is the most convenient way to reach the house. Please sit and enjoy the journey."

The profligate expenditure of magical energy wasn't lost on the guests as the boat pulled away from the wooden quayside and majestically made headway toward the island's interior. The guests were delighted at the multi-hued birds and strange water creatures that they encountered. Their senses were assaulted by sights and sounds and smells.

"The wildlife on the island is unique. There are species that are only found in this one place in the world, including several magical forms and a couple of large jaguar-like creatures. Please don't wander from the paths around the house and through the forest, otherwise the chance of getting lost is unbelievably high. The paths are also warded against incursion by any of the more inimical forms."

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By two, the party were being shown their suites in the house, a massive mansion in the Grand French Colonial style.

"Harry?"

"Luna?"

"How many rooms …?"

"Quite frankly, Luna, I have no idea. We've restored forty bedrooms and several of the public rooms, but the house seems to just keep on going."

"Magically expanded?"

He shook his head. "No, it was built before the Black family took it over. It's just an enormous building. Some of it is buried in the mountainside."

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The ancient Catalina flying-boat arrived at four in the afternoon.

Hermione Granger sat, wondering which museum the plane had been resurrected from, while Ron sat beside her, his eyes screwed shut in terror and his knuckles white on the seat in front of him.

The engine noise changed as they began to turn. Hermione was fascinated as the view changed. The plane banked and she got her first sight of the island. Her first impression was that it didn't look real. Maybe ten or twelve miles long and perhaps seven wide, it lay like a massive film set.

The stark, white, coral beaches lay between outjutting black headlands of volcanic rock. Where the white sand and the black rock ended inland was just primordial jungle, but for the upthrusting tower of rock near the centre of the island,

Hermione mentally compared this volcano with the other Pacific islands, and found this to be an anomaly. Rather than a low, conical mass, this was more like a child's drawing of a mountain. Hermione assumed that the volcano was extinct and the ash-slopes had been eroded, leaving only the core of a previously much larger mountain. She noticed a faint, hazy cloud that seemed to hang like a grey halo around the mountain's peak.

The engine tone changed and the plane began its ascent. As they approached their landing, Hermione could see that some kind of ferry was moored in the wide, sapphire-hued, northernmost bay.

The landing, a series of slaps and bumps, followed by a wallowing sensation was alarming, but they had been warned of this. Looking at her betrothed, she could see that he was distinctly green.

The engine's sound died and there was a slight lateral bump as the flying boat moored against the jetty.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your hosts have asked me to welcome you to Potter's Island. Please feel free to disembark through the front hatch. leave your baggage as it will be collected by the staff once you are on your way to the house."

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Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Remus and Dora Lupin emerged, blinking in the tropical sunlight. They were quickly joined by the elder wizard who had introduced himself as Reynard Bagnall and a younger witch named Medeuse Maladict.

They were joined by the pilot, a wizard by the name of Andy Callaghan.

"You're heading off now?"

"No, I've been invited to stay. I was with Harry when he entered auror training.."

"What was the story there? Harry never did really explain."

Callaghan grinned. "It was a clause in the Black family covenant. It seems that the Black Heir isn't allowed to work past his twenty third birthday once he inherits, unless it is as a teacher of some sort, or operating the Black family businesses."

"Ahh. Yes, that would embarrass Harry no end. And yourself?"

The wizard grinned. "Harry employs me to operate this airborne crate as a freight service. The plane is actually magically enhanced."

Ron, by now was complaining about being hungry. As if on cue, Harry emerged from the forest edge.

"Hermione! Ron! Everyone. This way, and we'll get you up to the house."

The hour's walk and ride was spent almost entirely with Hermione asking questions.

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"Good evening everyone. Welcome to Black Island, more properly known as Isles des Vortices. The island is actually three separate landmasses separated by narrow straits, one of which you travelled on earlier.

"Whist I hope that you enjoy your stay, I will warn you of a few restrictions, not all of our making.

"It is not possible to apparate or portkey to or from anywhere on the island. Nor do I recommend taking a broom any higher than the top of the tree-line. There is a magical vortex above the island that has the benefit of rendering the island naturally unplottable, but the disadvantage of disrupting any magic above about eight thousand feet.

"Muggle electrical equipment doesn't work on the island, but it doesn't become damaged if you forget.

"Finally, you are welcome to go where you wish, but I will caution you that we have placed warnings and wards wherever danger exists or we have not yet checked for safety. If you decide to walk, please keep to the tracks and paths as the jungle is an extremely unforgiving place. From experience, it is possible to get thoroughly lost a mere few paces into the undergrowth.

"Last but not least, please be aware that this is essentially a wild island in the Pacific Ocean. There are cliffs and sudden gorges, chasms, caves and canyons. There are rivers, rills, waterfalls and rotten logs, and there is a tendency for the weather to change suddenly.

"Whilst this is not the rainy season, it is quite possible for the weather to go from dangerously sunny to death dealing deluge in fifteen minutes. A major cloudburst is quite capable of washing you from an exposed path, or causing a mountain stream to become a raging torrent.

"As a final word, we are served on the island by the Black Family Retainers, house elves who are, because of their isolation from the rest of the wizarding world, rather startlingly different from the elves we are used to in Europe.

"And with that, I invite you to enjoy your meal."

The vast dining table was suddenly piled high with a banquet to quite put a Hogwarts feast in the shade.

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The next morning, Hermione left Ronald snoring and went to explore before breakfast. She decided to follow a path upward from the house.

She passed through the limit of the jungle foliage and onto what was essentially bare rock hosting a ground cover of hardy grasses and low-growing shrubs.

Crossing a cleft on a flat slab of rock, she looked down to see water far below and a forest of ferns and mosses in the rock walls.

"It's only about six feet deep, you know."

She looked up. "Malfoy?"

She hadn't seen the reformed death eater's apprentice in over a year.

The blonde Slytherin smiled. "That is I. And I was curious, so I lowered a length of string over the side of the bridge. Just over six feet to the water."

"It looks deeper."

"It's some kind of illusion. There are loads of places on the island like it. The Cave of Birds is the best."

"What's that?"

"It's around an hour's walk from here. It's a cave with a waterfall, and it's always filled with birds. The stream that goes in is just that, a stream. The water that comes out is a little more, but the waterfall is enormous … deafening."

"Sounds interesting."

"I was going to suggest an expedition there one day this week."

"That would be good."

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Breakfast over and done with, Harry spent some time in the library catching up with Ron and Hermione. Ginny was off doing whatever she occupied herself with.

"She'd probably still organising and tweaking the arrangements."

Harry nodded. "Probably. Now, how are you both?"

Ron mumbled and burbled and blustered to the effect that they were well and then gave Harry a run-down on what he was doing with his life. A run-down in exquisite, agonising and above all boring detail.

Ron's stomach rumbled noisily, so Harry recommended that he go and find himself a snack, telling him how to get to the kitchens.

As Ron left, Harry looked at his female best friend.

"So, tell me about how you're doing?"

Hermione sighed deeply. "I'm not certain that my betrothal to Ron is the right thing, but I can't get out of it with the law as it stands in Britain."

"Why ever not?"

She pulled a wry smile. "How long since you were back in Britain, Harry?"

"Three years, and I haven't actually been off the island in ten months not since joining Ginny here. Why?"

She looked sad. "They passed a new law. The wizarding population act. Any single witch or wizard above the age of twenty must be betrothed within six months of the date set, and must be married under wizarding law within twelve months. We have to get married in about another three months. I couldn't get out of the country without an unbreakable betrothal contract."

"Damn, it's almost as bad as when Voldemort was still around."

"No, Harry, other than the killings and the torture, the average witch in the street has it worse. The old laws are back, as soon as a witch is married, she becomes a chattel. Property."

The expression on Harry's face was one of deep sadness and hurt, but something else as well … something unreadable.

"What about your professional status as a healer?"

She shook her head. "Ron's demanding that I give up work, that I become a hausfrau like his damned mother."

They both sat and reflected on the domineering, manipulative woman who had caused so much pain during the early aftermath of the war.

"Look, Ginny will probably kill me, but come this way …"

Harry let her to a small, ornately carved door. He placed his hand on a plain panel, and then told Hermione to do the same. Then he bid her open the door.

Predictably, Hermione's eyes grew wide as she stared at the Potter library.

"Harry … it's magnificent!"

A voice from her left spoke. "It's enormous, you mean. Quarter of a million books, and not one of mine."

She looked at the portrait, and her eyes widened. "Y-you're … "

"HG Wells at your service. Scientist, Philosopher and, apparently, all but forgotten author of muggle fantasy."

She barely noticed that a smiling Harry had departed.

.

Ron, meanwhile, was suffering from shock. His visit to the kitchens had been … surprising.

As he walked in there were house elves, well, he assumed that was what they were.

Taller than he was used to, these were more grotesque than the worst features of Dobby and Kreacher combined. Their eyes were different sizes and their ears were decorated with a series of notches. The snub-noses gave them a bestial appearance and their voices held no middle ground between an animalistic growl and a petulant whine.

They didn't walk so much as shamble, their long and, Ron noticed, many-jointed fingers dragged on the ground, their great, splayed feet reminding him vaguely of Viktor Krum. Even to his dim sensibilities, they seemed like mockeries of life.

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"So when are you planning on taking everyone on the grand tour, Draco?"

"Tomorrow, I reckon. I was thinking of leaving first thing. Take a picnic. We'd be approaching from the bottom, past the foot of The Cliff of Damned Souls. An hour's walk out as far as the resurgence pool, then up to the dry portal along the cleft and then into the cave itself. Depending on time, we can then either go up to a window behind the falls and then up onto the ledge, or we can head straight back."

"Well, you can count Remus and myself in."

"Is that the place you told me about this morning?"

Draco nodded.

"Then I'll be along too. Ron may not bother. He likes his sleep in the morning."

.

In all, about a dozen people decided to go to see the cave.

.

Morning arrived and fifteen people set out on Draco's walk.

The Cliff turned out to be an eerie face of twisted black rock, full of holes and pits that, with a little imagination, resembled nothing more than a wall of twisted, tortured faces. The sound of the wind through the jagged rock was like the moaning of the damned.

The foot of the cliff was bare of large plants, being the broken surface of an earlier, more ancient lava flow.

As they climbed, they came to a pool in the hillside from which a small brook flowed down to the sea. There was a cave at the back of the pool from which emanated the sound of falling water, a hint of the spectacular sight to come.

"This is the bottom of the Cave of Birds. The vertical lava-tube is about a thousand feet high, so the water arrives as a constant, heavy rain a few hundred feet into the mountain side. Please notice that the stream is little more than the stream that feeds the Black Lake at Hogwarts."

Draco led on, up a winding path that steadily climbed the mountainside. As they climbed, they were gifted with glimpses of magnificent views across the island. At length, the path branched and Draco led them along a narrow track that entered a slot in the hillside. The slot joined a larger chasm which had a thread of water running at the bottom. Looking up and down, they could see that their path was about half way down the cleft.

"What you can see below you is the stream that we saw emerging from the hillside. Although it looks infinitely deeper, the water is about five hundred feet below us. Now, please be careful. The distant sound you can hear is the waterfall itself."

The top of the cleft became narrow and eventually they were in a high, narrow tunnel. The party suddenly became acutely aware of the distant thundering. Barely audible, it sounded like the engine room of the gods.

.

They passed through a rock arch and were immediately assaulted by brightness and noise and a rainbow of unexpected colour.

The chamber they were in was vast. The opening far above their heads was a circular pool of deep, azure sky.

The dark rock walls were covered by a forest of viridian, a jungle of massive, feathery ferns and the occasional patch of something bright. Specks of brilliant purples and oranges and reds were glimpsed amongst the foliage.

On the far side of the vertical chamber was a waterfall, struck golden by the sun, it lit the entire cavern. The torrent was unbelievable, spilling over half the circumference of the entrance far above, the river was massive. The clear waters arced into the yawning depths with a sound that owed little to running water. The sky, they noticed, was alive with birds. Tiny, jewel-bright winged creatures dived into the falling tumult, and emerged carrying wriggling slivers of silver in their beaks.

Enchanted and enthralled, the visitors gazed, their minds simply rapt in the wonder of the moment.

Eventually, Draco led them on and at last to a point behind the water where they could reach out and touch the edge of the falling river. From there a path led on, into the mountain and then up onto level area on the flank of the volcano.

A few hundred paces and they were at a point where a small stream passed over the path and disappeared down a hole in the rock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, May I present you with the entrance to the cave of birds …"

"You're kidding us, Draco."

He grinned. "Nope! This is the circular hole you recently looked up at, and this is the stream that you were so amazed at."

"How …?"

He smiled. "This island is the centre of a strange, permanent magical effect. The original name is Les Isles des Vortices. There are innumerable locations where magic simply bubbles through the ground here. The Cave of Birds is one, Miss Granger saw another yesterday, a six feet deep cleft that looks to be several hundred deep.

"The straits between the separate islands are another. In places you can step across them, and yet they are probably several miles wide. It is one of the reasons for remaining on the paths here. Distance has no meaning."

The Welsh witch, Delta Ffordd asked, "what do you mean?"

Draco looked serious. "The islands, when mapped from the air, appear to be no more than about twelve miles by five, and yet, when you actually pace the road between your point of arrival yesterday and the house, it is over eighty miles. Even allowing for the fact that the road is far from straight, it doesn't account for the distance."

"How do you know how far it is?"

"I took a broom ride to go for a swim. It took an hour to get there, and I wasn't exactly going at walking pace. Anyway, this is a good place to stop for a snack, and then I suggest that we head back down to below the tree-line before the sun gets too high."

After a break they pressed on, they passed the top of The Cliff of Damned Souls. Looking over, they could see the road they had walked earlier.

As they crossed into the relative cool of the trees, Delta asked, "Where are Terry and Mandy?"

Everyone looked around until Draco said, "Look, I'll go back to look, everyone else, the road goes straight to the back of the house. I'll backtrack and I'll meet you all there."

"Draco?"

"You go. I have a broom, so I can be back before you, and still look thoroughly."

He un-shrunk a broom and mounted as the rest of the party headed back to the house.

Two hours later, Draco arrived, ashen faced and levitating two people.

"They were at the foot of the Cliff … they were both dead when I got down to them…"

"What happened?"

He shook his head. "I'd guess they went too close to the edge, but I can't guess why they didn't use magic to break their fall."

Hermione, however, did. "They were both full of a slow-acting sleeping draught. I'd guess they were killed deliberately."

Two death certificates were written out. Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst, both death by trauma from falling. Hermione also made note of her autopsy report – the slow sleeping draught and both having unidentified magical residues on them, as though they had been hit by some low-level curse.

.

At dinner that night, the conversation was subdued.

"Where's Reynard?"

"Who?"

"Reynard Bagnall. The Druid?"

"Viola's missing, too. I haven't seen her since lunch."

.

As the sun was dipping toward the horizon, one of the searchers found Viola deMounceforth, barely alive, and brought her to Hermione, the only other healer on the island.

The girl died later that night, succumbing to some subtle poison that left a purple foam on her lips.

Hermione wrote out a third death certificate, Viola deMounceforth, death by poisoning. The autopsy report showed a rare and difficult potion had been used to procure her death, a potion that caused the cells of the body to rupture over a period of hours.

No sign was found of the Druid.

.

The following morning, Remus and Dora went by broom to see the foot of the cliff where the two had been found the day before. As they approached, they could see something caught in the rocks half way up.

Flying up, they found another body. Expecting it to be the Druid, they found, instead, the remains of Andy Callaghan, the sea-plane's pilot.

.

"He was despatched using the Killing Curse. The damage to his body occurred after he was dead, and what's more, he was placed in that cleft rather than dropped from any great height. There are traces of alcohol in his body, but not enough to slow him down by much. He was either surprised or he knew … and trusted his killer."

Hermione sighed. It was only the second day on the island and she had already had to write up four murders.

.

"Harry, some of us need to leave. I'm sorry, but it just isn't safe here."

Harry nodded. "I understand, but there's a problem. The ferry has already left, and won't be back for another two weeks, and since our pilot is dead, we can't fly you out. Look, I know you're frightened, but we're all stuck right now."

"What about apparation? Portkeys? The Elves?"

Harry shook his head. "It's too far for the elves, and the magical effects will spread your atoms halfway across the universe if you try to apparate or portkey."

"What about brooms?"

"Good thinking …"

When they opened the broom-shed, they found themselves bereft of even that option. The burned remains of two dozen Nimbus Seeker brooms lay forlornly on the scorched floor, disturbing proof that someone wanted them here and isolated for some dark purpose.

.

Two cowled figures met in a circular chamber. The glassy, black stone floor was inlaid with a pale pentagram, in the centre was a simple outline design. A left hand, inlaid using some material that looked like solidified fire.

"It has begun."

A nod. "They have been isolated, I assume?"

"Yes. There is no stepping in to assist. Nor may any leave until a resolution is achieved."

"What about The Specialist?"

"That one is already in place and has made contact with our agent who has now arrived."

"And the talisman?"

The other shook his cowled head. "Undisturbed. So far. Unfortunately, the acolytes fare less well. They are easily found out and … go on to the Judges of Beyond, may they be judged and found worthy. The mechanisma are still functional, though, for which be thankful."

"The Powers Above and Below Protect us. There is more to that place than I care to consider. Tell me, what about The Vortex?"

"Undisturbed and operating normally for now. We must trust to planning and the tenacity of those who stand for what we believe. The war will be fought first on the island."

"Let us trust now to hope, for events are in motion that cannot be halted or undone. What will be will be."

"So mote it be."

And so saying the two parted, going about their secret business.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Episode 2: The Pointed Wand**

.

**Consider, if you will, The Great Nexus. Your first question must naturally be as to what it is.**

**This is, perhaps, the simplest of all questions to answer, it is a turning point, the fulcrum of time, the pivot upon which the past, the present and the future rests. To change the world at that point is to change the past as well as the future.**

**Why is one point in time and space so important? Because, quite simply, that point is the centre of the current cycle of creation, the half-way mark between the first emergence of time and space to the eventual disappearance of them in the cold furnace of entropy.**

**How does it appear, you wonder. The arithmantics are quite simple, and it turns out to be nothing more than a vortex in the structure of m-space centred upon a small archipelago of volcanic islands lost in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.**

**To ask why it would appear there and not an equivalent location in deep space or on an uninhabited world requires a more complex answer. Essentially, m-space only distorts around living beings who have the inbuilt ability to manipulate their environment using what is grossly termed magic. Indeed, it is this distortion that provides the energy gradient for magic to operate.**

**Let us now consider this nexus, trapped beneath its mantle were a group of individuals, some of whom possessed talents and powers sufficient to manipulate the vortex. Unfortunately, many such individuals are jealous of their power over what they consider lesser beings. One such was on the island, flexing incorporeal muscles and preparing for war.**

.

_There were six figures in the lifeboat. Five men and one … other. The five had known each other on board the ship bound for Australia, but the sixth had been hauled on board the small boat after the ship had sunk._

_The small … being had not yet regained consciousness, but somehow made the men feel more … justified._

_"Mr Wells? Tell us one of your tales, help us to keep our spirits up?"_

_The wizard smiled. He had made a good living while still in England writing and selling science fiction stories. He was grinning inwardly that here he was actually involved in a real adventure._

_Looking at the dark-furred creature, he thought for a moment and described a tale regarding the shipwreck and the subsequent adventures of a gentleman by the name of Edward Prendick upon the island of the sinister Dr Moreau._

_Mr duMontplaissant, a member of the Vernesian Society applauded him on his invention, and once more raised the question that haunted them._

_"Gentlemen, here we are, adrift in the Pacific Ocean, a thousand miles from land. We have little fresh water and even less food. I ask, what can we do?"_

_Mr Black, a dark-haired individual bearing the unlikely name of Centaurus, suggested that in the case of one of them suffering greatly, he would be willing to ease their passing with his knowledge of certain occult practices._

_Mr Cholmsley remarked that he would appreciate the exercise of those dark practices if only he would take away the pain of his left hand. Mr Black examined said hand and agreed that the injuries would soon become infected and Mr Cholmsley would either die or lose his hand._

_"To lose my hand and to survive would be no small favour. Can you perform this surgery, sir?"_

_"I can, but you may all think the less of me afterward, but upon my honour, I use my arts only for good."_

_He took out a small stick, pointed it at the wrist and simply said, "diffindio. Cautus."_

_The hand fell painlessly away from the wrist and the wound was immediately closed, and Cholmsley sighed a great sigh of relief._

_"My gratitude sir. Now, I ask, will this suffice to provide a little sustenance?"_

_There was general amusement, but the hand was wrapped and placed in safe keeping by Mr Black, saying, "Perhaps and perhaps not. At the least, it will become a symbol of our adventure."_

.

They were gathered in the dining room of The House. It was three days since the last of the guests had arrived; the seventeenth of December. Harry stood and addressed the gathering.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends …"

He looked around, catching Hermione's eye for a brief moment.

"As you know, we have during the past two days suffered … umm, how should I put this? We have suffered some difficulties. Unfortunately, it is no longer possible to leave the island, at least until the ferry arrives in two weeks' time. I'm afraid that, unless something comes up, we will have to weather the storm.

"I have managed to send an albatross to the Australian Ministry, but from experience, the soonest that can arrive will be in five days time.

"If you wish to retreat to your rooms and close the door, then please do so. I will instruct the Igors to serve you in your rooms if you so wish. As for anyone else, please remain with at least one other person you feel you can trust while out and about."

There was, if not out and out panic, then consternation and not a few raised voices.

"Potter?"

He looked at the source of the loud voice. "Yes Ronald?"

"You've done this deliberately. You've …"

Hermione's wand was pointing at her betrothed.

"Shut up, Ron. I'm sure we don't want to hear your angry, cowardly bleating any further."

She looked at her hosts. "Can I have a separate room from this … creature, please?"

"Of course. I'll instruct an Igor."

The pandemonium was beginning to subside as couples and groups began to reach their agreements on the forthcoming fortnight.

.

Dean Thomas and Dustin Smythe had decided to explore the mountain a bit, taking a picnic lunch and a few bottles of butterbeer, they set out to see what appeared on an old, framed map of the island as Parrot Falls. Harry had said that is was another magical location, a high cliff over which tumbled a spectacular waterfall. The forest-clad valley walls were home to vast numbers of parrots.

They were joined by Ron Weasley, who remarked that Hermione had discovered a library, and that he didn't expect to see her again until New Year at the earliest. Both men thought that Hermione had gotten the dodgy end of the deal being trapped into a marriage with Ron.

.

At the same time, Minerva McGonagall was sat in the Black Library with Hermione. Both were working on what they described as private projects which they wouldn't discuss in detail. Hermione hinted that she was interested in some of the Healing Magic that was in the books, McGonagall remarked that there were some interesting aspects of Transfiguration discussed.

The portrait of Mr Wells smiled and referred them to the several copies of his own works that were on the shelves.

"I did start reading your novel of Dr Moreau last night."

"It was actually a yarn I spun while stuck in a lifeboat with several others. It is where I first met Centaurus Black, you know. The geography of the island, well, it's based on this one, you know. M'ling, the real M'ling, that is, is buried on the island, you know."

"I had no idea …"

The portrait smiled. "Few do, other than we five who knew her after we were shipwrecked. She was actually a beautiful creature … "

The portrait drifted off into a reverie and Hermione continued her researches.

.

Dean, Dustin and Ron arrived at Parrot Falls around mid morning. Understandably, they were amazed at the scene that confronted them as they rounded a buttress of rock. Above them was the waterfall which thundered over the cliff and fell, easily a thousand feet below them into the misty depths of the valley.

Muggleborn Dean remarked that he expected to see Pterosaurs flying above the valley and not parrots, and that he found himself listening for velociraptors and tyrannosaurs. He had to explain to the two pureblood wizards.

The sun, behind them as they approached, struck incredible, vibrant rainbows from the billowing fog of the falls. The green of the tropical foliage below was muted by the mist, and disturbed occasionally by zephyrs and the many, brilliant-hued birds.

At last, they stood atop the cliff. The river came out from the dense jungle, crossing the wide shelf of hard lava-rock that they now stood upon, and then cascaded into the steep-sided valley.

As they stood chatting and marvelling, Ron saw a bolt of green pass in front of his face, hitting Dean and blasting him, already dead, into the river only to be rolled and then tumbled over the cliff.

Wand out, Ron scanned the surrounding jungle, but there was no further sign of anyone for several minutes. Warily, the two started back down the mountain to bring the latest news back.

.

They were just rounding the rocky knoll at the end of the buttress when they heard a crashing in the jungle. The two wizards spun and witnessed the sight of a badly cut and battered Draco Malfoy staggering out of the jungle, wand out and wild-eyed.

This was enough for Dustin Smythe, never a particularly brave individual. He broke and ran away from Malfoy, in his panic forgetting that the path bent sharply to the right.

His scream dopplered until it ended in a series of woody crashes which made both Malfoy and Ron Weasley wince.

"That's two more you've killed, Ferret. Drop the wand."

.

An hour later, Draco Malfoy was marched into the house at wandpoint by a now exhausted Ron Weasley.

.

"Very well Ron," Harry said after he'd heard Ron's side of the story, "Let's see Draco's wand."

.


	8. Fate's Exchange

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 8 - Fate's Exchange**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 8 - Fate's Exchange**

.

Sirius, Harry and Hermione all die in the DoM debacle, and Fate has to act.

.

**1 – The Party At The End Of The Film**

.

The end of shooting party was taking place in one of the hangar-like warehouses on the Pinewood Studios main lot. The party was in a most surreal setting, surrounded by furniture from various scenes from the seven films – the full-size Death Veil arch formed a dramatic backdrop to the party.

"I have to say, Dan, this was the most dramatic set for a death-scene that I ever did have. Falling through the veil seemed almost an understatement when it came out."

"A nice touch, actually, Gary. A classic piece of dramatic counter-composition."

"Thank you Her … um, Emma."

The brown haired actor grinned at the blushing young starlet. The fact that he was wearing long hair and a beard for his current stage role just made him look more like his Sirius Black character. He briefly reflected that the pretty young girl he had first met was now a beautiful young woman, and was every bit as intelligent as the character she had portrayed.

The three sat in companionable silence, reflecting comfortably on the highs and the lows of shooting the seven films as the party rolled on into the night.

.

Somehow, in their quiet reverie, they managed to miss the departure of the cast and crew. Somehow, no one noticed them sitting quietly on the partially dismantled plinth supporting the massive, wood and plaster arch.

.

.

Neville Longbottom was carrying an injured and unconscious Hermione Granger through the Department of Mysteries. His friend, Harry Potter was shooting curses and raising shields in an attempt to bring his two injured classmates safely through the hell of the running battle.

They emerged in a chamber lit by the eldrich glow of some kind of misty veil that filled an arch that seemed ripped from an ancient ruin. A sussurus like the whispering of a thousand ghosts filled the air.

Luna, Ginny and Ron appeared through another of the several doors around the circumference of the chamber. Ron was in a bad way, obviously hallucinating and Ginny, whist still functioning mentally was hobbling on an obviously damaged ankle. Luna, like Harry, was fighting for three.

"Harry, I deeb a breader!"

Harry nodded. "I know, Neville … lay her on the plinth. We're fairly defensible here amongst the rocks."

Harry looked toward the veil. Now that they were closer, he could hear that the sounds were voices on an unfelt breeze.

"I can hear them too, Harry."

"Thanks, Luna. I wasn't sure it wasn't my imagination …"

.

A few minutes respite was all they had before they once again were caught up in the running battle, only now they were pinned down. A series of pops were heard as members of the Order of The Phoenix apparated in., and the battle heated up once more.

Harry was fighting alongside Sirius on the plinth before the arch when a stray banishing hex hit the still unconscious Hermione, throwing her through the arch.

"Hermione!" the distraction was enough for Harry and Sirius' opponents to throw them through the veil.

.

The battle raged and resistance was crushed, but so was the hope of the wizarding world with the deaths of the Boy-Who-Lived and his friend, the brightest witch of the age.

Dumbledore faced Lord Voldemort in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, but, after the Dark Lord departed, Dumbledore was crushed by the news of the loss of The Chosen One…

.

.

Twenty-seven miles, a few years away and on the other side of a shadow, three cast-members from a block-buster movie series roused from their introspection. Still a little tipsy from the festivities, they all slipped from their perch together. A moment of speed, a flash of grey and they were kneeling.

"Um, Dan?"

"Emma?"

"This is grit I'm on …"

Daniel Radcliffe pulled his thoughts together and moved his hand. "Ummmmmm …. yeah. Same here. What the …?"

Gary Oldman finished Dan's sentence with the preferred profanity.

The three stood and looked round at the chamber. The arch was there, now with a faintly glowing veil of mist across the aperture, the floor was grit and strewn rocks and there was a burned taint mixed with ozone in the air.

Emma stooped and picked up a stick which gushed forth a stream of red and gold stars, giving a little shriek of shock as she dropped the supposed firework. The stars winked out as she lost contact with the wood.

She picked up the stick once more and, feeling very silly, performed the swish and flick whilst intoning, "wingardium leviosa!"

One of the smaller rocks lifted from the dirt floor.

The sick grin fixed to her face showed, to the two actors, that she really didn't want to believe what was going on.

Dan and Gary looked around, eventually finding a couple more wands that did nothing. Nothing, that is, until they exchanged them.

Three actors stood looking as though they felt very, very silly.

.

They managed to find their way out of the death chamber and into the atrium. It looked as though there had been a rocket attack on the place. There were people milling around wearing robes not unlike the wizard costumes that the trio had worn whilst on set. A tall, white haired man with an incredible white beard and a twisted nose was speaking to a worried looking weasel of a man with a green bowler hat and a nightshirt.

The nightshirted man glanced past the imposing man and at the trio. Dumbledore, for it was he, paused and looked around, following the minister's gaze, immediately seeing the three dressed in muggle clothes.

"Siri … um, Har … err, Miss Gran … Um … ?"

Dumbledore stopped, realising that these three were not the three who had passed through the veil.

.


	9. Going Ape

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 9 - Going Ape**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 9 - Going Ape**

.

Harry gets lost in L-space and, after being bitten by a Lexicon, finds himself with a new ability – he is a Librarian Animagus – he is able to morph into a large, red-haired ape with an 8' arm-span, a taste for bananas and a pathological hatred of the 'M' word.

.

A crossover with Terry Pratchett's Discworld series.

.

**Chapter 1: An Introduction to L-Space**

.

We've all done it at some point, walked into a situation where we end up volunteering to help with something we don't want to do, and then find we can't escape …

In Harry Potter's case, he'd walked into the library over the Christmas break and found Madam Pince in tears of frustration.

"Madam Pince? Are you alright?"

The severe face of the Hogwarts' librarian looked up at the smiling teenager. Somehow, the tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes softened the severity.

"Do you need some help?"

She nodded. "I need to get these books re-shelved and …" She indicated her leg, a leg swathed in bandages.

"Oh … no …! What happened? Can I re-shelve this lot for you …?"

The accident, as it turned out, had involved one of Hagrid's 'pets' and she was going to be immobile for a few days since magical healing didn't seem to be working.

Without thinking, Harry volunteered to assist. He spent the rest of the day in the parchment and dust smelling atmosphere of the library. He found that it seemed to be larger than he had known.

The following day, only half-willing but too guilty to renege on his offer, he returned to the domain of the printed word. Once more, there seemed to be hundreds of books to re-shelve, somewhat surprising since there were barely a dozen students in school over the winter break.

"Some of these need to be returned to the shelves that hold books from … other libraries. They are actually quite a way back in the stacks …"

Harry levitated the books and set off. He seemed to be walking for ages, the shelves gave him the impression that they … curved – in … odd ways. There was the occasional rustling of paper and parchment as though something was furtively moving amongst the books.

These shelves, unlike the ancient, dark oak shelves nearer the front of the library, were of a blood-red timber, cedar, he thought., and there were brass strips nailed to the front edges of the shelves.

It was dark here in the depths of the stacks, and Harry could see, just on the edge of vision, the eldrich glow of magic around the books, a rather unappetising bruise colour, he thought.

At last, he found the place where the last book in his pile was supposed to live, and found a banana peel in the space.

"Madam Pince will kill whoever left this here if she finds out …"

He vanished the peel and turned to head back to the front desk. There was a sound and a shadow passed. He could have sworn he saw … something moving across the tops of the shelves. As he followed, wand at the ready, he lost track of where he was going.

The ways between the shelves widened out and Harry found himself looking up at a vast dome of glass. As he looked around, the shelves seemed to curve upwards as they passed into the distance.

After looking around the chamber, he headed back into the shelves, hoping to find his way back to the parts of the library he knew.

The shelves grew close … closer than before, and Harry was beginning to become truly fearful. There was a furtive, rustling movement and he spun, a curse on his lips …

He had an impression of paper … and words and then everything went black.

.

"Ook?"

"Yes, he's coming round. Nasty that … umm …"

Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking into the eyes of a bespectacled young man wearing a bright orange, leather wizarding robe with a top pocket full of … pens.

"You alright? That was a near thing in there. The stacks are hardly the place for the inexper … ience … ed …"

Harry realised that the man's mind had gone off at a tangent .

"ook? ook!"

Harry looked down. There, at his feet was what could only be an orang-utan. The creature was, well, stood, watching him with the most intelligent eyes he'd seen barring only his best friend, Hermione.

"Ook? Ook-ook?"

"Oh, right … I'm Harry Potter, and I was helping Madam Pince re-shelve some books. I kind of got lost, I guess. Umm … where am I?"

The ape did a classic face-palm, and with those long arms, it was spectacular.

"Ook!" he said emphatically.

"You're in Unseen University's library. Largest magical library on The Disc."

"The disc? Umm?"

The ape shook his head and replied. "Eeek!"

"He says you're well lost."

Harry nodded. "I guess. Why does it always happen to me, I wonder?"

The wizard regarded Harry. "You'd probably get on with Rincewind. He's always followed by trouble … but there again, he does have that trunk …" the man shuddered.

"Look, I know it's my fault and all, but I really need to be getting back to Madam Pince."

"Look, my name's Stibbons. Ponder Stibbons … and it's getting to be close to lunch time. Let's get you fed and I'm sure the librarian will put you right …"

The ape regarded Harry solemnly, took his hand and patted it gently, nodding.

"Thank you both …"


	10. Hardships

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 10 - Hardships**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

.

-::::::::-

.

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 10 - Hardships**

.

Sirius is recently dead and Harry has been returned to the tender mercies of Stalag Luft IV: Schloss Durzkaban.

.

WARNING for extreme violence, torture and gory death.

.

.

**Chapter 1: Chapter Title**

.

_"Hermione, thank Merlin you're here … it's Harry …"_

_"Tonks, what's … ?"_

_"He's dying, Hermione … he's given up, his magic is allowing him to die …"_

_"Noooooooo!"_

_._

_Hermione couldn't believe what she saw. The thin, pale body on the hospital bed lay there bathed in his own blood. As she watched another scar simply opened up and let out more of his blood, and there were so many scars … more than their adventures at school could account for …_

_She knew he was dying and she knew who was to blame - Albus too-many-bloody-names Dumbledore._

_She knew that time was limited and she needed him to know …_

_"Harry? Harry … please? I … I don't want you to die … please, Harry?"_

_Her frame was wracked by sobs._

_"Harry … I don't want to go on without you. I love you, Harry. I … I love you so much. I n-need you so much … I …"_

_Her voice trailed off, lost in her tears. Harry's hand moved slightly and weakly caressed her cheek … played with a stray curl of her hair, and relaxed completely._

_There followed a renewed bout of heart-wrenching sobs from the girl._

.

Three weeks before:

Harry had been told by the headmaster that he was to return to Privet Drive for the summer. For some reason, the old man wanted him to suffer ever more. His _greater good_ wore rather thin after a while and Harry couldn't see how his being miserable was any good to anyone other than a vindictive and sadistic headmaster.

So here he was, climbing into the back of his uncle's car. For some reason, the top of the line company car had been replaced by an old model. Harry was more than a little wary of the fact that it seemed to be permeated by the stench of booze.

The absence of Dudley and Aunt Petunia concerned him a little.

Five minutes later he was even more worried. His uncle's erratic driving spoke of the alcohol smell coming from him. Uncle Vernon was gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles show white, his face was set in a scowling, straight-lipped grimace and the vein in his temple throbbing erratically.

.

Arriving at Privet Drive, Harry released Hedwig so that she could hunt and stretch her wings. He barely made it in the door when he felt a crashing pain before bouncing off of the wall. He woke up crammed in the cupboard under the stairs alongside his trunk.

There was barely room to breathe and certainly no room to move. Harry could feel a trickle of blood still running down his face and his head felt as though his hair was matted with blood.

Two hours later, Malfalda Hopkirk entered in her log that someone had performed a major healing charm in the house where Harry Potter lived. The sensor attuned to Harry's wand, however, showed no activity.

.

The next morning, Harry was woken by the lock on the outside of the door being opened. The door was flung wide and Harry was dragged from the cupboard by a meaty fist and thrown along the hallway. His school trunk was dragged out and taken outside. After another beating, the semi-conscious Harry was forced to watch as his belongings were doused with petrol and burned.

A series of small explosions heralded the expiry of various magical artefacts within the trunk.

"And there's an end to your freakishness, boy. Never let it be said that Vernon Dursley ever let a Devil's Spawn to go un punished."

Harry was again systematically beaten, Vernon delighting in the sounds of bones snapping before throwing Harry back into his cupboard in the hope that he would die.

Malfalda Hopkirk reported to Amelia Bones the fact that a large number of heavy-duty healing charms were cast in Harry Potter's home that evening.

.

Harry roused the following morning, still aching but seemingly none the worse for wear. The house seemed to be quiet barring a strange mewling noise and the basso rumble of Vernon's drunken snores.

"Heeeeeeh! Heeeeeh?"

It sounded like someone trying to speak.

"Dudley?"

"Hnnn. Ssssss!"

"I'm listening, Dud."

A pained whispering came through the gap at the bottom of the door, almost unintelligible.

"Dad lost his job two months back. He started drinking. He was beating mum and me. He's hurt me bad an' I can't speak properly. Mum's disappeared. Haven't eaten in two weeks, Harry."

"Can you get out the house, Dud?"

"Nnnng, no. Can't walk and he's put extra locks on everything. Phone's ripped out, too. How you holding up, Harry?"

"Dunno, Dud. Can't see any injuries for being covered in blood."

A wet coughing noise told Harry that Dudley had tried to laugh.

"Harry, If'n you can get out, get help … please?"

"Okay, Dud, but I don't know if I have the strength. I was hurt pretty bad yesterday."

" Uh, 'k. looks like we'll be seeing each other wherever then…"

Harry heard his cousin dragging himself off up the stairs, and he was left to his thoughts … guilty thoughts over the death of his godfather, vengeful thoughts over Uncle Vernon and Albus Dumbledork, worried thoughts about Ron and Hermione, both of whom were hurt at The Ministry.

Stomach gnawing, Harry fell into a fitful doze, only to be awoken by a newly drunk Vernon in order to receive a further beating before being thrown back into the cupboard. All the while, Vernon kept up a verbal assault, a mantra that Harry was a waste of air, that his presence had blighted Vernon's life and that he should have the decency to just die.

The list of healing charms reported by Malfalda Hopkirk grew longer each day as Harry's body repaired itself while he slept.

Harry lost weight dramatically. As a wizard, he needed to supply energy to perform magic and, even though his magic was able to get creative by pulling energy from the environment – mainly the wards around the house, he was still in deficit. The missing calories came from his own body.

.

A weak and delirious Harry Potter felt the wards around the property fall, giving him a much needed boost as he was able to take back the residual energy from the failing protections. It also gave him access to the ambient magical energy, small though it was.

Malfalda Hopkirk was frantic and haggard from three weeks of worry, but now that the wards had fallen, she could report the address to Madam Bones.

Amelia Bones saw the address on the report and swung into action. She knew that Auror Tonks was friendly with the boy, so she sent her to investigate Privet Drive.

.

Arriving in the street she saw Hedwig perched in a tree in a neighbouring garden. The Snowy Owl swooped down, agitated. Tonks recognised that the usually open window was firmly shut.

Mundungus Fletcher, petty thief, vagabond and professional layabout was asleep under an invisibility cloak, oblivious to anything outside his own dreams. She stunned him repeatedly in order to keep him out of her way.

Getting no answer to the door bell, she reducto'd the front door and was immediately struck by the stench of decay. The smell of death long past.

She hurried upstairs to Harry's room and used magic to unlock the door. As the door swung open, she caught the full blast of the smell. On the bed lay a body with mousy hair. She gagged and slammed the door. She recognised the meticulous clothes and general form of Petunia Dursley, although she seemed to have been beaten to death by an artist of pain.

.

Entering the other rooms she stepped over the last earthly remains of Harry's cousin, Dudley. The boy, recently dead, seemed to be one single, enormous bruise.

Heading downstairs, Tonks found the purple-faced, snoring architect of the mayhem she had so far met, one Vernon Dursley.

Something triggered a memory, Harry mentioning a cupboard …

She saw the lock on the odd-shaped door. A simple charm unlocked the door and when it swung open, she simply stood and cried.

.

Pulling herself together, she fired off a message spell to her boss and another to St Mungo's. Amelia Bones arrived with several grim-faced aurors at the same time as the medical crash team.

.


	11. Escape

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 11 - Escape**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 11 - Escape**

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It is the end of Fifth Year, Sirius Black has been dead less than an hour and Albus Dumbledore has just dumped the responsibility for the survival of Magical Britain on the narrow shoulders of one Harry James Potter. The resulting angry ... outburst changes everything.

.

Features The Grangers, Harry, Tonks and a ski lodge in the Alps.

.

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**Chapter 1: Escape From the Great Manipulator**

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To describe Harry Potter as being one peeved teenager would be like describing the sea as a bit damp or the Antarctic ice-fields as a trifle chilly. Harry Potter was incandescent with rage. Albus Dumbledore had just revealed to him, minutes after his godfather had died and his friends had been injured, the prophesy.

_Another_ thousand points from Dumbledore, in Harry's opinion.

Harry had passed the anger event horizon, and now he was giving the same impression as the surface of the sun as seen from the Earth. It all seemed bright and calm. He reached a decision.

"Why?"

He asked very coldly, very quietly. He knew what the answer would be.

"It was for your protection … I …"

Dumbledore never completed his statement. Harry's wand was out and a series of lightning-fast blasting curses reduced most of Dumbledore's pretty 'toys' to mangled, inert scrap.

Harry's … tantrum … continued for ten minutes, reducing the Headmaster's study to ruins. One of Harry's curses had clipped the old man on the temple, rendering him unconscious.

A cold smile crossed Harry's lips as he looked down on the old fool. A line had been crossed and a judgement had been made. The headmaster had been found wanting.

Harry pointed his wand at the author of his misery, and silently said, "legilimens."

Ten minutes later, Harry had everything he wanted. He checked the instruments and devices to ensure that nothing remained workable. One contained a small phial of blood, his, he assumed. The phial was scourgified and a trickle of the headmaster's own blood was used to fill the phial.

On a whim, he took the professor's wand, a particularly ornate one, and tried it. It worked wonderfully for him. He kept it.

Re-enervating the meddling old fool, Harry left for the Gryffindor dormitory.

.

Once in his room, he packed his belongings into his trunk. He penned a brief note for Hermione, the only person who would genuinely worry for him, and took his belongings to the owlery.

"Hedwig, hide until tomorrow night and take this letter to Hermione. Then I want you to come and find me. Don't let anyone other than Hermione send a reply with you. I'll see you in a few of days. I'm sorry, Girl, but it'll be a long flight for both of us."

Hedwig made several noises and nibbled her human's finger, indicating assent.

Harry mounted his broom, his shrunken trunk in his pocket and turned his face southward, vowing privately to never willingly return to Hogwarts as a student.

.

Crouched low over his broom, Harry flew south, arriving on the outskirts of Greater London just as the sun brightened the horizon. He landed amongst some trees and, using Dumbledore's wand, he un-shrunk his trunk, quickly changed into muggle clothes, re-shrank his trunk, disillusioned himself and flew off before anyone could apparate in to find out who was doing unauthorised magic.

Thirty minutes later he landed at a London tube station and bought a ticket. Still unseen, he waited for a train. When one arrived, he boarded an empty carriage, cancelling the disillusionment on himself as the train started to move, and stowed his broom. To any observer, he was just another untidy kid riding the underground.

.

He reached Leicester Square tube station and exited the network and walked confidently to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Ducking into an alleyway, he donned his father's invisibility cloak and waited for someone to go in.

Undetected, he arrived at Gringott's and entered, removing his cloak once inside the outer door.

.

An hour later, Harry had determined that his parents had left him the ruins of a house in Godric's Hollow, a vault with a couple of million galleons and his trust vault. Best of all was a chalet in a ski resort, but Griphook had no idea where. From his trust vault he withdrew 5000 galleons his maximum permitted single withdrawal, and an assurance that his finances would be available through the bank's Paris branch in order to cover his tuition at Beauxbatons next year. A quarter of the galleons he converted to Pounds, a half to Euros.

He walked the distance to Charing Cross station and booked himself on the Eurostar to Paris. He caught the underground to a different station and used a machine to buy a ticket to Folkstone. He sat in a café on the station and ate breakfast.

His train stopped at Canterbury, and Harry got off, knowing that his ticket, if traced, would lead Dumbledore to Folkstone. A steady walk out of the city up onto the downs and he would be ready for the next leg of his escape. On the hike through the town he bought sandwiches and drinks to take with him. Cancelling the shrinking charm on his broom, he mounted and flew eastward, crossing the English Channel and arriving at the coast of Belgium. He continued to fly slightly south of east and crossed the border into Luxembourg as night was falling. He landed and made a cold camp, eating the last of his sandwiches.

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Rooting through his now re-enlarged trunk, Harry managed to dig out his muggle passport, which Hermione had helped him obtain the previous autumn. He silently thanked her and cast a small confundus charm on the document. His name was now shown as Hereward Porter. The photograph was, as usual, bad enough to barely give an impression of what he really looked like.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He tapped the Marauders' Map with his own wand and watched the ink fill the parchment. Harry looked to see where Hermione was, and then his other friends. Then he looked at an ink-blob that he had noticed before. There were two of them, and he had noted that this one resembled a map of Luxembourg.

He stared at the blob and going on a hunch, tapped the blob once more with his wand, being rewarded with the message changing.

"Messrs Prongs, Padfoot and Moony greet Prongs Junior and wish him a _bon vacance_."

The blob had expanded and now showed a map of the small country with annotations and directions to reach the Potter holiday retreat. Harry wondered how there could be a ski-lodge in this fairly low landscape. he also wondered how Wormtail wasn't included in the salutation.

.

The following morning saw Harry following the directions to a house on the outskirts of Diekerch. When he arrived, he found a rather dilapidated single-story building with a partially collapsed roof. As he wandered around the derelict building, he had the impression of a carefully arranged mess. He entered the house, wand ready, and found a flight of sturdy stairs down into a basement.

As he descended, he felt the wards activating around him, but felt no threat.

The lower level was, in fact, mostly empty. It was also clean and dry with no evidence of the derelict state of the building above.

There was a single closed door. As Harry put his hand on the knob, he felt the tingle of magic, and the door opened. He entered and torches on the walls lit. He allowed the door to swing shut and looked around. The room contained a steel filing cabinet, a desk with a chair and a wardrobe. There was a parchment envelope on the desk. He opened it and unfolded the letter within.

_My Dear Son,_

_If you are reading this, then the unthinkable has happened and you are probably fleeing for your life. As you have solved the riddles to reaching this house, you should know that here you are safe, although this room is hardly a pleasant holiday home._

_Do not despair. There is a way for you to reach your real holiday destination from here._

_Since you have already pranked your pursuers, you will know how to discover your way forward. Please don't leave this letter behind._

_I love you, son, and wish you luck in whatever mischief you have managed to perpetrate to date._

_Your loving father,_

_James._

.

Harry stared at the letter and smiled.

"Mischief Managed."

The ink ran and rearranged itself.

_My first is a key over a ring of stone._

_My second a lock for that alone._

_My third is a cupboard, a crock to throw._

_My fourth is a password your nature to show._

Harry groaned. A four-part riddle. He looked around for inspiration, opening the filing cabinet and the desk drawers. The cupboard was locked tight.

There was a key in the desk drawer, but Harry thought that too obvious, so he continued looking.

He was looking at one of the torch-brackets when he realised that it was different from the others. He tried to move it but nothing happened other than disturbing some dust.

As he watched the dust fall, he noticed a circular hole in the stone of the floor just large enough for his thumb.

He inserted his finger and pushed and pulled. There was a click and one of the stones of the wall shifted. Harry pulled gently and was rewarded by the stone revealing a small key safe. He withdrew the single key from the safe and pushed the stone back.

He looked at the strange key. He knew that it would fit the cupboard.

He opened the crockery cabinet and saw that it was big enough to walk into with maybe a half-dozen people. He grinned, realising that this was a transport portal of some kind.

Returning the key to its place and gathering up the parchment as well as his broom, Harry closed the door and said the password, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

There was a moment of vertigo and the door swung open, revealing an immaculately kept room.

.

Back in Britain there was pandemonium. When Harry had failed to appear at breakfast and, moreover, no one seemed to have seen him, it was realised that he was missing. Then when Harry's note was delivered to Hermione who was still in the infirmary, hell actually broke loose in Hogwarts.

Hermione had shown the note to McGonagall. In it, Harry had explained that Dumbledore had kept back information that would have prevented Sirius from dying and Hermione and the others being hurt. He said that he was going to try to leave the wizarding world behind and that he would not be returning to Hogwarts.

Hermione was heartbroken. Luna was mildly surprised and Ginny and Neville were furious with the headmaster. Ron, on the other hand was difficult to judge, being still rather vague about the boundaries between reality and unreality.

Ron's reaction was to say, "oh? Fair enough. Say hello to him for me when you see him."

He then continued sketching the unlikely scene of a higgledy-piggledy house perched on an impossibly steep slope. He signed the finished sketch and left it on his night stand in the infirmary.

Hermione took some time over writing Harry a note, securing it with privacy charms. She sent it with Hedwig, telling her to take care of Harry for her.

.

The Order was alerted and all stops pulled out to find Harry. His underage magic use while using Dumbledore's wand, the Elder Wand, was lost in the general background of magical use in Britain. His booking on the Eurostar, however, was recorded.

He had given the ticket to an elderly gentleman in the queue who had used it to get to Paris to see his daughter. The Order never found a trace of his use of the train to Folkstone.

As far as Wizarding Britain was concerned, Harry had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

As far as Hermione was concerned, she guessed that he had suddenly grown a deviousness that spoke of Ron's chess mastery. She hoped that she would see him over the summer at some point.

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-::::::::-

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**Chapter 2: The Higgledy Lodge**

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Harry explored the building he had arrived in. It seemed to be a rambling construction that, in the way of magical buildings everywhere, had been added to over the years. Each addition seemed to be on a slightly different level to any other, and hugged the mountainside at the back.

As he started on his way back to the main building, he noticed a corridor that seemed to go into the mountainside.

Following this, he found that he was, indeed, in a series of tunnels through the living rock of the mountain.

Passing through warded doors that made his hand tingle, he found a study and library, a duelling hall and a potions laboratory. He also found a garage containing an old sports car of some sort, a land rover and a motorcycle. Through a set of gates, he could see a long tunnel leading away from the house, presumably leading to the nearest road. There was a well equipped workshop area in the garage, which surprised Harry a lot.

Thinking about it, the building was probably no larger than The Burrow, but built on one basic level and having its additions sideways-on.

.

Entering the study, he found two envelopes addressed to himself. within, he found letters from his parents. For the next hour he simply sat and cried, reading and re-reading their words to him.

He moved into the master bedroom and planned his studies for the next few years.

.

Morning arrived, and Harry was woken by the sensation of his ear being gently nibbled.

As he woke, he greeted his familiar who seemed to be carrying a letter from Hermione. He retrieved the envelope, gave Hedwig a handful of owl treats and quickly checked everything for tracing and transport charms.

Hermione's letter wished him luck and success and stated that she hoped that she would see him soon.

An ink blot caught his eye. Hermione never blotted her work, so this was deliberate. He tapped the blot with his wand and said the usual password. What blossomed across the lower part of the page was her itinerary for the summer, and a personal note that she was considering withdrawing from Hogwarts herself.

Harry determined to try to meet her over the summer.

.

It was the last day of term and Nymphadora Tonks was to escort Ron and Hermione back to Kings Cross on the Hogwarts Express, since neither of them was yet entirely back to health.

"Ron?"

"Hmm?" He looked up and saw the pink-haired auror.

"This sketch you did. May I keep it?"

"Oh … yeah. It's just something I … Yeah, keep it. D'ya want me to sign it?"

Tonks nodded, "you already did, thanks."

She shrank the picture and put it in her pouch.

"Thanks Ron, it reminds me of somewhere I went for a holiday once."

.

At Kings Cross, Tonks handed Ron over to Molly Weasley and escorted Hermione to meet her parents.

"Hermione?"

The teen looked at her escort.

"That picture that Ron sketched. I've been there as a child. It's the old Potter holiday home. I think it's close to the southern border of Switzerland."

"Really? We were heading to Lausanne for mum and dad's annual conference this summer …"

The auror blushed. "Do you think they'd mind if I tagged along … for security's sake?"

"Ask them. Why?"

"Something Padfoot told me during the spring. Something about the headmaster."

"Do you trust Dumbledore?"

Tonks shook her head a violent no. "Of course I do … he does, after all, strive for the _greater good_."

Hermione thought she understood all too well.

.

Back home in Oxford, Hermione was checked by Tonks for monitoring and tracking charms, as was the house and her parents.

"You're being tracked, but I won't cancel that until you leave for the airport. We're not being listened to."

The three Grangers and Tonks sat down and the realities of the year and the current state of wizarding Britain were explained in full and graphic detail.

At the end, Tonks said, "Sirius once told me that there was a prophesy. It told that The Chosen One would be the one who would defeat The Dark Lord. Unfortunately, Sirius had begun to think that the dark lord in question was not Lord Thingy. Don't say it … there is such a thing as a Taboo charm…"

Hermione blanched as Tonks continued.

"… Sirius was beginning to suspect that the headmaster was on the ascendant as the next dark lord. Harry should have been trained up from age six, he should have been raised in the wizarding culture, taught what he needed early and been able to reach his potential early. What has actually happened is that he was kept ignorant until he was eleven, forced into bad study habits, taught by poor or impaired DADA teachers and kept in the dark about his supposed destiny.

"There's another couple of issues that are relevant, but they're not entirely my own business."

"Other issues?"

She nodded. "Inheritance and, umm, betrothal contracts."

"Betrothal … contracts … ?"

Tonks nodded. "It's quite commonplace among pureblood families, and among many older half-bloods too. The rules about such contracts are quite … complex, but as best I can make out, Harry has two contracts that have been signed by his, AHEM, guardian, who has pocketed the bride price himself."

"The headmaster?"

Tonks nodded again. "To Ginny Weasley and a girl called Lucienne Mangalais. Harry will be automatically wed to them when he turns seventeen unless he contracts elsewhere when he is sixteen."

"Pardon?"

"If Harry makes formal declaration of his own after his sixteenth birthday, he will pre-empt one or both of the outstanding betrothals."

"But … two … w-wi …?"

"Yes, as I say, the law is quite complex, but polyamoury is quite legal, even commonplace in the magical world."

"H-he's … a-allowed …"

"Three wives, as far as I can ascertain, but the third contract is only able to be entered into by himself, and only when he comes of age at seventeen."

"T-t-three …?"

"The best part is that should either contract be broken, the guardian has to repay the bride-price and pay a further penalty."

"You really hate him, don't you?"

"The headmaster? Yes."

"Hermione?"

"Yes mum?"

"How do you feel about this Harry Potter boy, anyway?"

Blushing, the teen replied, "about how you feel about dad, I guess."

Barely above a murmur, Tonks said, "… and so do I …"

.

A few days later, Hedwig arrived carrying a letter from Harry addressed to Hermione.

The owl was obviously tired so she gave the bird some treats and some water and settled down to read Harry's missive and to write a reply.

Harry told her that he was well and that he had found somewhere to recover his equilibrium and to train for what he must do to defeat the dark lord. He also wished her a happy holiday when she visited Lausanne and Hérémence, and warned her to keep her eyes open and to be safe.

There was an ink blot in the middle of the letter, not an unusual occurrence for Harry, but she wondered …

Tapping the ink blot with her wand and said, "Hérémence is not on my itinerary."

She grinned broadly when the blot shouldered aside the rest of the note and she was able to read Harry's real letter.

He confirmed that he was safe and well, that he had a perfectly good house to stay in, and that she would be welcome to come and stay, with her parents if they wished. He also mentioned that there was a large and fairly complete magical library in the house as well as plenty of other pursuits, but to remember to bring her skis and winter clothes.

He signed this letter with love from Harry.

Her reply was more circumspect since she couldn't use magic to disguise her letter. She explained that she would take care and to keep her eyes open, and that they would be accompanied by a body-guard in the form of Tonks. She also stated that there was an awful lot they needed to discuss when they next met.

.

Smiling broadly, she approached Tonks when she next arrived.

"I heard from Harry. Tell me about this holiday place?"

"It's high in the mountains. Some kind of ski and hunting lodge, I gather. A typical magical home … old, rambling and well warded. How he could have gotten there is beyond me, though. It's a long way to have travelled so quickly."

"A portkey?"

"More than likely."

Tonks showed the Grangers the sketch that Ron had made.

"This is a pretty good drawing of the house. It's right on the snow-line, I think, and protected by an overhanging cliff. I remember a number of paths across the mountain side and a long tunnel. I was only five at the time, though."

.

"So, what are we going to do, Dan?"

"Emma, I don't know. What Tonks and Hermione told us is … worrying. I'm half inclined to say let's just pack up and get out, and to heck with the wizarding world."

Emma Granger sighed and relaxed. "Me too. You want to get the wheels in motion?"

Her husband nodded. "We know that the practice has an outstanding offer on it. Let's pack what we can and arrange for the house and practice to be sold once we're gone, and just get a shipping firm to send everything over."

.

By the time they were ready to leave for the symposium, the house was bare of all their personal belongings. Tonks had taken them to Diagon Alley and they had bought magical multi-compartment trunks. Tonks had shrunk everything to get it into the trunks and had then shrunk the trunks. The whole household excluding furniture now fitted into a single hold-all.

They took a taxi to Southampton Airport and caught their flight direct to Lausanne where they hired a car. That evening, they were comfortably ensconced in their hotel and wondering how to make contact with Harry.

They had eaten dinner in the restaurant and had returned to their room when there was a knock at the window. When they looked, Tonks and Hermione with drawn wands and curses on their lips, they saw on the balcony a smiling Harry Potter holding his firebolt.

"Who are you?"

"The one who nearly died of fright when Hermione was felled by Dolohov. Who are you?"

"The one who made a mess of her last but one letter."

"I don't need to ask about Tonks there, no one else does Donald Duck impressions quite like that."

.

"Harry, we've decided to quit Britain. Hermione and Tonks have told us about the war and what is happening. We want to protect our daughter, who, incidentally, has a confession to make to you at some point. Not, I hasten to add, a bad confession …"

Hermione was beet red with embarrassment.

The next morning, Harry arrived to guide the Grangers to his home.

"Harry, what are you doing riding a motorcycle?"

Harry grinned. "It isn't actually a motorbike, it's a broom disguised as a motorbike that flies at zero altitude. It just seemed more sensible to guide you on the roads this way than by flying broom in front of a city full of muggle dentists."

"Let me guess … Sirius's?"

"Nope. This one was my dad's. Hagrid still has Sirius's. This one is less … exciting."

.

Two hours later the five of them were enjoying a cup of tea overlooking the forests below Harry's higgledy house. Harry was quietly fuming about Albus Dumbledore, but managed to keep his temper in check.

"You need to read this. All of you…."

_Dear Harry,_

_Cub, If you are reading this letter then I am gone. Hopefully I died doing something really stupid, brave or unprintable. I hope it was death through sexual excess, but if not, well …_

_Since there will have been no little Padfoots (thank you, Snivellus!) then I have named you my heir and successor. Everything is yours, but since I don't trust Albus Dumbledore any further than I would trust Wormtail, then I don't expect you to see a thing of what I have __**officially**__ left you._

_To this end, you will find in my room in the lodge a number of trunks containing, amongst other things, the Black family library, a collection of valuables, most of the family cash, equipment and materials, and a penseive. I have taken the time to bottle up memories of my time with your parents and anything else I can think that you might like or find useful._

_I hope that you will find your way here before you need to, but in case you didn't, I hope that you didn't suffer too many losses getting to where you are. It was my hope to show you the maps when I next saw you, and since you are here then either I did or you figured it out on your own._

_You should know that Dumbledore has been holding you back, and that you have been fed doses of some kinds of feeble-mind and oblivious potions to keep you ignorant and under-trained. I can only assume that Dumbledore sees some reason to fear you. There are counter-potions in the potions lab. They are in the purple-stoppered vials marked 'numeracy potion,' since they COUNTer the problem._

_If you haven't already done so, tell that girl that you love her. You two seem to be the last to know._

_You will find more notes elsewhere._

_Love,_

_Padfoot._

.

"You took the potions?"

Harry nodded.

"And I noticed the difference within minutes. My mind seemed … clearer. I found that I can remember all of our lessons clearly, including Binns' droning on. It's a bit like looking into a penseive all the time. There were extra vials of the stuff, too. For some reason, Sirius thought that you and others might need some as well?

Hermione blinked.

"You want to drink them? They're harmless if you're taking them and you haven't been fed the potions. I looked them up in Mum's potions notes."

"What about my parents?"

"The stuff works on Muggles too."

.

"THAT EVIL, CRETINOUS, MANIPULATIVE SON OF A BITCH!"

Harry went into Hermione's room and held her until she calmed down.

"I was more creative about what I called him, but I agree. This is about revenge now …"

He was interrupted by multiple, incoherent screams of rage from the other rooms.

"You take your parents, I'll take Tonks."

.

"A forgetfulness potion? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Tonks. I'm not muggleborn at all. Mum and dad are both magical, though how he targeted that I will never know …"

"We never went to Hogwarts, dear. We were sent to a private tutor in Oxford. It's how we met. Neither of us was ever particularly powerful. We were both well trained in occlumancy, though … and that protects from obliviation to some degree."

"What about you, Tonks?"

She did something that she hadn't been able to previously … she shifted into the form of a very tall woman. Returning to her own form, she then performed a series of balance exercises … flawlessly.

"Ability and memory suppressants. Of course, part of that suppressed my spatial awareness and balance. I was convinced that I was only able to change my soft tissue form, that height and overall shape were fixed. Now I realise that I am a true metamorph."

.

"These are the wands captured by my parents and by my grandfather Charlus. See if there are any that suit you. Hermione, you need to use a wand without a trace on it to ensure that the Headmaster is unable to track you that way. There are no underage magic laws in Switzerland, just the Statute of Secrecy. All police and military here are aware of our world, so they will contact aurors to deal with any infraction."

Hermione ended up with Lily Potter's wand which, strangely, was stronger for her than her own. She found a second match, though less good. Her parents found wands that worked tolerably well.

"Although I have Albus' wand, my dad's is a good match, too."

"Why did you take his wand, Harry?"

He grinned wickedly. "To annoy him. There is one other thing though. I disarmed him, so the wand is rightfully mine … you'll see …"

He fetched two books, opening one at a sketch. He laid the wand beside the sketch. the second book had a page marked. Opening the history, Harry indicated a passage.

… _His [Albus Dumbledore] favoured wand was that previously owned and used by the dark wizard Grindlewald until his defeat in a duel. The wand, of a particularly ornate design after the style of the Gothic wand masters, was taken by Grindelwald from the hand of Werner Gottleib who was rumoured to have taken it from Samuel Isaacs. It has been hinted that Isaacs received the wand after defeating a previous dark lord in 1782, one Darius the Cruel …_

"So this is an old wand that …changes … allegiance …?"

Harry indicated a passage beside the illustration, re-holstering his wand at the same time.

… _"The eldest asked for an unbeatable wand, and was given by Death the Elder Wand, a wand unbeatable in a duel, but that would change allegiance should the wizard ever be disarmed and the wand taken as by an enemy. This wand was hereafter known as 'The Elder Wand' or The Deathstick."_

_The many references to the wand describe it as being of a particularly ornate design in the style of the old Gothic wand-makers. Pendel, in 1792, even ventured a sketch based on a wand he had seen in use which is reproduced here._

_It is generally accepted that the Elder Wand is named for the unique occurrence of this unusually impractical wood which is prone to spontaneous destruction when subjected to high magical flows. Others have posited that the wand is named for the Eldest brother, and that the wand is of some other wood. Whichever is the case, it is certain that this particular wand re-surfaces with great regularity in accounts of great mages throughout history._

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"This is … "

"The Elder Wand? Yes, as far as I can tell. I disarmed the headmaster, accidentally, to be sure, and took his wand. It works well for me, so it seems to have changed its allegiance … if that isn't proof, it is certainly an argument for."

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"Harry? These are all books of dark magic!"

Harry nodded. "And the counters to the curses and hexes."

Hermione's mouth formed an oh.

"That's right, I have been studying the dark curses so that I can recognise and counter them."

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	12. An Unholy Alliance

**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 12 - An Unholy Alliance**

**.**

by Polydicta

A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.

Each 'chapter' represents a single story.

Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.

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**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 12 - An Unholy Alliance**

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When a boy is trained in the bright arts by a demoness (who subsequently falls in love with him), and his fated partner is likewise trained in the bright arts by an angel, the result is bound to be a mortal couple who have near divine powers.

When that boy is Harry Potter, and he is destined to become the Master of The Hallows, then something will simply have to give …

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**The Prologue**

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_In a time and place not far away and not long ago, events were unfolding that had been set in motion by the creator himself. Events that were quite different to those that would be reflected in the official chronicles of the times._

_For one thing, no mortal was quite aware of the involvement of demonic forces, and none was quite aware of the true nature of the approaching conflict. Certainly, even those involved, would not know of the debts being called in until after the war was ended._

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"Harry Potter?"

"mmflgl … hmm … Eh?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, cracking his head sharply on the underside of the stairs in the cupboard in which he lived.

"Who're you?"

"My name? It's not really that important right now, but since you ask, I'm Azicarael-Cacopsycheos. I'm commonly called Madness, at least by some. And in order to answer your next question, I'm a demon."

Harry regarded the lithe figure before him. The demon appeared to be a rather androgynous female with skin the same shade of red as Uncle Vernon's teak television cabinet. She sported long, black hair which framed a face comprising rather angular features and fiery yellow eyes. She was naked, but for some reason, the ten-year-old Harry wasn't terribly interested. Arching from behind her shoulders were a pair of incredibly glossy, blue-black feathered wings.

Harry wasn't terribly sure where the light to see her was coming from, but assumed that it went along with her being a demon.

Marshalling his thoughts, he looked down and saw the … demon's … feet. What he saw were two dainty red feet with glistening bronze toenails. A black-tufted tail curled around her ankles.

The demon chuckled. "I happen to like bronze-coloured nail polish."

Harry looked sharply back at the demon's face. She was grinning. Her teeth were pointed but not unattractive.

"I like you, Harry Potter, you talk to my face not my … other assets. That makes this so much easier."

"Makes what easier? I suppose you're here to take my soul to Hell, aren't you? Well, I won't put up any argument. At least in Hell I'll be better treated than by my relatives."

"Is your life so terrible, Harry Potter?"

He bowed his head. The demon, even with enhanced senses, strained to hear the quiet murmur. "Yes."

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**Chapter 1: Of Demonic Forces and Unholy Alliances**

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"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?"

The young mage looked up. A rather attractive woman was standing before him. He almost stepped into the circle, but then remembered that this was a summoning, and he wasn't certain that he could defeat this … creature … at least, not in close contact.

Albus nodded. "That is how I am known."

"I have come in order to grant your wish. You have studied much and learned more. You have immersed yourself in the most ancient and powerful magics of this world, and now you can claim your reward.

"You who have sought power shall be granted access to that power along with life enough in which to exercise that power. It will not be an easy task, for you will still need to work to gain and to exert that power, but it shall be within your reach. Is this acceptable to you?"

The mage nodded. "I am not unused to having to work for what I gain, and life enough will be welcome. It is acceptable."

"There shall be a cost to the granting of your wish."

Albus nodded. "This I expected. Whatever the cost, I shall pay willingly."

The demon raised her perfect, black eyebrow. This was easier than she had expected.

"The bargain is struck, the contract is made. So mote it be."

"So mote it be."

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"Arianna! Nooooooo!"

There was a crack, and Grindlewald apparated away, leaving Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore to mourn their sister. Aberforth never forgave his brother, nor did Albus forgive himself, for he knew in his heart of hearts that hers had been the blood price of his pact with the nether realm.

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"Albus Dumbledore, you must go to Germany and defeat Grindlewald. Everything you need to know is in this tome…"

He went, and he defeated the dark wizard, his former friend and confidant, and after, he was the darling of the wizarding world. Knowing that his absolute obedience was required in order for him to continue to live, he followed his orders from below without question.

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"Is there anything you feel you should tell me, Tom?"

"Uh, no. No, sir … nothing."

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"What have I done? I allowed him to follow in my own footsteps, but …"

"He didn't have the strength to rise above the petty revenge and hate that he grew up with."

"You! What do YOU want now?"

"There is one for whom you will allow no happiness in his life. There is one who is fated to be with his soul mate. He will defeat Tom Riddle. Then, and only then, the wizarding world will find itself with an even greater Dark Lord to overcome. To survive, you must not allow him to ever know true love … You should do what is right."

"What is this new Dark Lord's name?"

"The boy's name is Harry Potter."

The Demon departed, grinning to herself. She had told the truth, as her kind were forced to do. It just wasn't the _whole_ truth, after all. She knew Dumbledore, and precisely how he would interpret her 'prophesy.'

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It was the Eve of All-Hallows that saw the next chapter of events unfolded ...

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Hello, Petunia. Are you well?"

She nodded. "Yes thanks. We were just getting ready for a quiet evening indoors, just Vernon, Baby Dudley and myself, away from the rather raucous Halloween revellers. Would you like to come in?"

Dumbledore nodded. "If I may. I have news that you need to hear."

Petunia Dursley paled. "It's Lils, isn't it?"

Vernon was in the sitting room with Dudley. The joy on the father's face mirroring that on his son's. The feeling of love and happiness filled the house. The man smiled and waved hello with his fingers, quite pleased to see the old wizard.

"I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you all. Today, James and Lily Potter's security wards, in Godric's Hollow were compromised. It is too early to be certain, but they are not expected to survive the night. I need to ask you to take in young Harry."

"Of course we'll do that. Do you have him with you?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I won't bring him until we are certain."

He stood and silently stunned the three muggles. He obliviated them, implanting false memories and compulsions to treat their soon-to-be new ward with neither love nor gentleness; to hate and despise anything magic. The cheerful, loving Dursleys became in that unwilling instant, demonically controlled agents of pure evil.

Dumbledore placed charms and wards around the property in order to reinforce his commands to his cat's paws.

He left, silently apparating from the same place he had arrived in the front hallway of the house, neatly avoiding his being seen by Minerva McGonagall who was watching outside.

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That very night, nine years later, young Harry Potter first received his demonic visitor.

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"So, Harry, how could your life be improved?"

The small, half-starved boy shook his head. "I'm not sure that it could be. I'm just a worthless freak. My parents died in a car crash because my father was drunk."

"No, Harry, they didn't. They were both members of an elite security service. They were murdered by a terrorist, but their murder was orchestrated by a traitor."

The boy looked into the demon's yellow eyes, and she felt that he could see her very essence.

"It's true then. What will it cost to make my life right and to get just payment?"

The demon blinked. She wasn't used to dealing with bright children, certainly ones that weren't intimidated by her demonic form.

"Nothing but that you do what is right. There are prophesies surrounding you and a certain mythos, but all you have to do is to follow your heart. You need to know that you are fated to be with another, a match made in Hell."

Harry shuddered and looked afraid.

"No, not hell for you. It's just that the union was decreed by the Infernal forces and not those of …"

The demon swallowed. "… of Heaven."

"So you haven't come to claim my soul as Father Bernard says you will?"

The demon laughed, a soft, tinkling sound like the running of a small brook. A pure sound filled with genuine mirth.

"Dear me, no. We couldn't house your soul in Hell, not for a moment. First of all, you're an innocent, even now. And secondly, you have a destiny to fulfil. The only way that we get to take your soul is if you renounce everything that is honest and good.

"No, we only take our due. Sometimes it is necessary that we use the forces of light to do our bidding. The object isn't actually overall rule, but for a balance of powers. It's that pull between light and dark that has led mankind from the caves of his youth and, hopefully, one day to the light of the stars. Without that tension, there would be only stagnation and decay.

"In truth, it could have been one of the angelic heralds who visited you tonight, but since I was here …"

She shrugged.

Very quietly, Harry spoke. "So, what do I need to know, and what do I need to do?"

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When, at last he slept, the demon kissed the boy gently on his brow. As he slumbered fitfully, she healed his many hurts. While she could not interfere in many ways, she could ensure that the child grew as he should, that he was healthy and sane. She could also instruct him …

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Harry woke the next morning feeling healthy and rested. He also felt well fed, for some reason.

As he prepared breakfast for his relatives, he pondered the rather strange dream he had experienced. He also found himself holding the silent conviction that magic was real, but his sense of self-preservation prevented him from behaving any differently from yesterday.

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During the eight months until Harry's next birthday, he suffered the ills inflicted upon him by his relatives and each night he was visited by Madness who instructed him in magic. One of her first gifts was the skill of deep occlumancy. Whilst Harry's mind may seem undefended, his true thoughts and memories were as well protected as any angel … or demon. could manage.

Each night, Harry was healed of his hurts and fed upon the very essence of life. Each night, the demon apologised to him that he was forced to suffer, and each night Harry forgave the demon.

Each and every day, the Demon's daily duties seemed to take longer and become more onerous while she waited to see her young charge again. She found herself looking forward to the boy's ready charm and wit, and to the fact that he alone over the millennia had made her laugh.

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A hundred miles west and north, a similar scenario played out each night. Castafael, one of Azicarael's angelic opposites visited a young girl who had already received her Hogwarts letter.

Fearful that the demonic influence upon young Harry Potter would cause yet another dark lord to rise, the heavenly forces had decreed that Hermione Granger, a muggleborn witch, would be trained in order to be the foil against which Harry would dispel his dark energies, preventing him from becoming dark.

Castafael drove forth the strength of The Light that no matter what Harry did, it could be balanced by his fated partner, Hermione.


End file.
